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internalsealpanic · 4 years ago

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Sealing the Deal part 2

Summary: Dick has a perfectly reasonable idea.

a/n: There will probably be more parts to this since you people gave me so many ideas but for now here is some soft smut. Did I finish this just in time for the end of mermay? Yes.

warning: Attempt at soft smut

Main Masterlist

Part 1

"Let's get married."

It takes around a minute for you to even register the fact that Dick had even said anything at all and another to parse out the meaning behind his words. You look up from the piece you've been slaving over for hours while Dick dozed on your lap.

"Let's get married." He repeats earnestly.

You narrow your eyes at him. You... clearly missed at least 2 diatribes and 40% of this conversation. "Uh Dickie, my love, did I miss the part where you divorced me or did I sleep through it like I did when Wally was preaching about raw fish?" You set your tools down and pull his pelt more tightly around you, feeling oddly protective of it.

Seeing you wrapped up in his pelt never failed to make Dick's chest flutter; unfortunately, he had to focus on the matter at hand. "As I was saying, we're married but not in the human way. "

"Ah- Yeah, I see that but.. that seems entirely unnecessary."

"There's no harm in it." Dick says, looking at you with big hopeful eyes. No matter whether it’s his liquid seal eyes or his bright baby blues, you’re still a sucker.

He is definitely up to something. Dick always uses that look when he really wants something and you can already feel yourself falling for it. Who thought giving this man the cutest face in the world was a good idea? Who?! You sigh. Spousal homicide is a bad idea, you tell yourself.

"You're so lucky you're terribly cute," you huff, "you're also lucky that there's a ferry coming tomorrow."

You mentally calculate how much time the whole trip would take but you know all that arithmetic is useless when you hazard a look at your husband. Dick beams, dimples appear at the corners of his mouth, and makes the happiest little noises.

You lean over the railing, watching the sea and feeling the wind comb through your hair. A pair of arms wraps around you making you squeak.

Dick buries his face in your hair and he sweeps you into his arms. "How's the most beautiful creature in the world?"

"Dunno Dick, how are you?" You smile.

Dick sniffles. "You're not allowed to be this cute."

"Hypocrite." You laugh wrapping your arms around him.

He nudges his face against yours.

"Are you liking your first boat ride?"

"I could still swim faster." Dick hums.

You roll your eyes. "Sadly for us, I can't."

"It's ok," he says, brushing his lips against the shell of your ear," it just means you can't escape me on this boat."

"Pfffft!"

"You're saying that now but look who I have in my hold." He chuckles, lips brushing against your neck.

"We're in public you dork!" You squeal.

"And?"

You sigh."You just like embarrassing me."

"Yup. Just ask Jaso- What's that?!" Dick says pointing to a statue on the shore. It was tall and proud with hair cascading down like a waterfall with a visage as hard as the rock it's carved on. You narrow your eyes trying to recall what the local told your father when you were younger.

"Oh, it's... It's a sea goddess I believe or maybe a selkie." You shrug at Dick who looks at it in awe. You supposed this is the first time he's seen a statue that big.

"I thought you said the people on the mainland didn't believe in selkies?"

"Er... ok, so there are mainlanders who are more inland where I come from and there's people near the sea. No, there are more divisions than that but- Ok, so the place where I came from the sea wasn't as important but here it is so they probably have more folk tales."

"I guess that makes sense," Dick says burying his face in your hair. "Did you have any folk tales?"

"Some but it was mostly cautionary about maidens being stolen away."

"Guess you didn't listen to them, huh?" he says, "did they say anything about stealing hearts?" Dick winks one of those winks that only he could make cute.

You huff into your scarf. "More about eating them, I think."

"I can do that if you want." He smirks cheekily.

You pat his cheek, trying to be as irritatingly condescending as possible. "You're still not scary."

Dick takes your hand in his and brings it closer to his lips. He pretends to bite at your fingers, his sharp canines dragging along the skin and nipping at the joints. "It’s because I love you so much."

Dick alternates between gawking at perfectly common sights like large cargo ships and flocks of sheep on the cliff and teasing the life out of you for the rest of the ferry ride.

You are the tiniest bit mortified that several passengers have seen your husband drag his teeth over your skin and toss you in the air for the fun of it. Dick was horrible at keeping a low profile. Not that acting reserved would have mattered anyway given how everyone's eyes were always drawn to him.

You can't blame them, his laughter is infectious and his smile was enough to make the gloomy morning look like a bright summer afternoon. You really really don't blame them for gawking but you just wish they wouldn't.

Not even fifteen minutes onshore and you're reminded why you only ever went into town with your father. Being meek by nature, you're often the target for unruly sailors. It never got too bad, not enough for you to call the cops at least. You would be lying if you wish it wasn't such a common occurrence to have some random guy shove his hand down your back pocket and squeezes your ass.

You jump, nearly dropping the little map of shops your father had drawn for you a while ago. A man passes behind you snickering quietly and yeah, knocking his teeth in would be amazing.

"Hey buddy, do you mind apologizing?" Dick asks, his voice dangerously pleasant.

There's a gnawing sense of foreboding forming in your stomach. It squirms in your gut until you grab Dick's sleeve. "Dick," you hiss, "it's not worth it."

You'd looked at the man and sadly, it really wasn't worth getting Dick's face punched in on his first visit to the mainland. You don't think anything worth getting Dick hurt.

The men turn back to your and the dread in your stomach solidifies. Even your dad was never dumb enough to piss off sailors especially ones built like I train would be dented when hitting them.

"I don't see the problem, pretty boy," the man spits like he'd said the word fungus, "The lass doesn't have a problem with it, do you?" He leers at you. It makes your skin crawl. He steps closer, invading your space, and places a hand on your shoulder. "This lassy here and I go waaaay back." He says, sliding his hand down your arm. You have absolutely no doubt that this man is sloshed because you have never seen him before in your life. You are pretty plain, so that makes sense but yeah, this is the first time you've seen his mug.

"A lass like you shouldn't be dressing like that if you know what's good for you."You open your mouth to protest but only manage to tighten your grip on Dick's sleeve.

There's a split second between Dick flickering his eyes to you and the satisfying sound of a fist making contact with a jaw. The man falls to the ground narrowly avoiding smashing his head into the cobblestones.

"Get up and apologize to her." Dick growls, teeth bared. He pushes forward. You're about as stunned as the man on the ground. Dick's poised for a fight and you have no doubt he'll have no problem getting into a row. You need to stop Dick from doing anything stupid. You wrap your arms around his waist, squeezing your eyes shut. You bury your face into his coat. You want to tell him that it's fine, that you're used to things like this, that you don't want him to get hurt. This whole thing isn't worth him getting hurt. You're not worth him getting hurt. But the only thing you can manage is a weak "It's not worth it."

Dick squeezes your hand. You're trembling and Dick feels awful for scaring you but he doesn't stop glaring at the man. He guesses he's made his point loud and clear. He softens a fraction, maneuvering you to his side and wrapping an arm around you. There's still a snarl caught in the back of his throat but contrary to popular belief, Dick isn't hot-headed enough to ignore you. All he wants to do now is get you to safety.

You squeeze him with your arms, your face still scrunched as if bracing for impact. "Let's go shopping for those rings, yeah?"

Dick sighs with an indulgent smile. "Ok, honey." He kisses the crown of your head. "I love you, I’m sorry."

"Don’t be sorry," you say, snuggling tighter into him. "You know I only want you and--” That wasn’t even the point. You are really bad at this. “--and you really should be more careful. What if you got hurt?"

"Did you miss that killer right hook? He sure didn't."

A small smile shapes your lips. "Moron."

"Still love me though." He says, bringing your knuckle to his lips.

You shake your head. "It's unfortunate really."

"You know the more time I spend here the less I believe the fact that you didn't know what selkies were," Dick says holding up another seal necklace.

You look at him, wince at the bruise blooming on his knuckle but continue. "My dad and I went into town twice a year and they were only ever day trips." You say, setting down a cheap shot glass with a blubbering seal. It wasn't strictly a lie. It was more of a guesstimate. You look away from him and mumble a "I thought they were called Setties."

Dick snorts loudly and you have a heart attack thinking he reverted back to his seal form. "Setties?" He snorts again and you think he's gonna suck in all the dust from the store.

"Yes, Setties." You repeat grumpily, "I was 7. Cut me some slack!"

"When have I ever cut you some slack?"

"Never."

"Mhm, exactly."

"Why do I love you again?"

"Because I'm the cutest person, you know?"

"I dunno, Dickie." You drawl, picking up a couple of little seal stuffed toys. They were cute with their round faces and distended bodies. Their black eyes didn't quite do justice to your favorite trouble maker but they're close enough in huggableness."These little guys could give you a run for your money."

Dick makes an affronted squawk. You hold them to Dick's face for inspection and ask: "Should we buy the black one or the white one?" Truly, a matter of life and death.

Dick scrunches his face in thought. "The black one obviously."

"But the white one looks cute too." You whine.

Dick gives you a grumpy pout. You ignore him. "Why don’t we get both?"

Dick crosses his arms. "Why-"

"Yanno... A pair like us..." You say, pulling them closer to your chest and looking up at him hopefully.

Dick looks at you wearily. "How could I argue against such a solid argument?" Dick says, tousling your already windswept locks.

"What do you think I’d look like as a seal?" You ask absently as you exit the store. You'd managed to drive the price down with a little haggling and a bit of distraction from Dick.

"Beautiful."

You grin at him. "Again buttering me up won't make me buy you more sweets."

"I can think of other things to eat." Dick says, his pink tongue darting over his lips as he looks at you.

You swallow, mouth feeling dry. Dick is horrible to you today.

The old antique shop was dustier than you remembered. Part of you suspects that the particles sprinkled on all the shelves is in fact just the old owner's cremated remains but you don't really wanna find out if it's true.

You comb through the shelves, feeling like a pirate in search of treasure. The expensive rings with their big rind stones were stowed away on a shelf behind the shopkeeper but everyone one knows that if you want the good stuff you have to search for it yourself.

Dick seems to be happy looking through all the strange knickknacks, so you carry on.

You nearly squeal with glee when you find a ring. It was a band of silver carved into the shape of a seal curling in on itself as it slumbers. You smile holding it close to your chest. "Give me your finger."

"That... is a very strange way to put it."

"Just give me your hand." You say holding out your own. Dick, still incredulous, puts his hand in yours. You bite back a smile as you put the ring on his ring finger. Your lips stretch even as you dig your teeth in. It was a good fit. You're embarrassed to say you were bouncing on your heel with excitement.The silver looks lovely against his tanned skin.

Dick inspects it. "And you said subtlety wasn't my element."

"It really isn't," you say, smiling down at his hand. "But I never did say it was mine either." You could easily find another ring if he doesn't like it but you're quietly hoping he does. You try not to watch his face, not read too deeply into his expressions.

"I like it. Let's try to find a matching one."

Much to your amusement, you did find something but it's.... You snort as you put it on.

"It kind of matches." Dick says wearily.

"It's a fish." You laugh.

"Um... it's a pretty silver fish."

"Absolutely ravishing, huh?"

"Exactly like my wife." Dick says, nipping at your ear.

Your ear burns and you cover it hastily.

"Let's just go pay for them." You say, shoving at him lightly.

"So you do like it?" He asks, peaking through your fingers.

"Yes, you dork. Now, stop being cute." You say, shoving him again.

"Never." He chuckles.

"Is this the statue from the harbor?" Dick asks, poking at the little replica on the shopkeep's counter.

"Aye lad, the natives worshiped the sea before we came along. Kooky fellows but they knew a thing or two about the sea. They even talked about the selkie. Those blood-thirsty women folk of the sea. "

Dick scrunches his nose. You press the heel of your palm to your lips holding back a laugh.

"Well, I’ve heard some different of stories." Dick says, leaning into the counter, his eyes shining mischievously.

The old shopkeep leans in, looking around. "Like what?"

Dick leans in a bit more, his voice hushed and conspiratorial. "I hear they try to trap fair maidens into marriage to bear children for them."

Dick winks unabashedly. You flush. "What?!"

"C'mon lad," the shopkeeper snorted like a walrus, "we all know that all selkies are women folk."

"That’s the thing," Dick says, resting his hands on his intertwined fingers. He grins. "I’ve been out at sea a while, my whole family has aaaaand," he drawls in his other voice. The shopkeep looks entranced. "We've heard of different tales."

"Do tell."

"My family have heard tales of male selkies, those who seek women to carry on the selkie way." Dick pushes off the counter, spinning around on his heel theatrically. "We heard of old lore when they used to kidnap unsuspecting women by the sea shore." You vaguely recall this version but it seemed like ages ago. "But now," he says, stepping closer to you. "Now, they are much more persuasive." Dick winks at you and you resist the urge to elbow him.

"I also heard they're quite persistent." You say, leaning against him.

"Quite." Dick says a little too fondly.

"Hnnn, never heard that one." The shopkeep says tilting his head. "Do you have anymore?"

"Oh, I have a ton of seafaring stories if you'd like. I’ve heard stories about the Cthulhu."

"Cthulhu?"

"The great horror of the deep."

"The only horror here is the lack of treasure chests." The shopkeep huffs. You would be inclined to agree if Tim and Damian weren't so good at finding them.

"Oh this is no tall-tale my friend," Dick says, wrapping an arm around the man's shoulders, "we heard that he awakes once every 10 years to roam the deep seas. Why do you think boats go missing with no trace?"

Monsoons, you think.

"Like that submarine last summer!"

Dick nods sagely "Exactly."

You want to slap your palm against your forehead. There is no way he can believe that hokey, right? ... You are literally married to a selkie. Do you really have any room for skepticism? You sigh. You suppose not.

"The sea is a mysterious maiden just like those sires. A tricky bunch, slippery and smart not like mermaids."

"Have you ever heard one?!" The shopkeep nearly folds over the counter.

"Once when I’d been at sea for 4 months, I heard the most beautiful song in my life, kind of like a mirage but it was a misty night at sea."

The shopkeeper gasps.

You blink. This is news to you.

"Luckily, my father pulled me from the towboat before I set off towards it." You try to imagine it and somehow it's funnier than the idea of Dick being bloodthirsty.

Dick regails Bruce's spat with a sea witch and Alfred's horrifying tale with a kraken. Even you were enthralled by all his tales. Having the shopkeep thoroughly wrapped around his finger. He leans in close again. "Sorry, I got so lost. How much were these rings again?"

The man blinks as if resurfacing from a trance. "A sea-loving man like you? You can keep it for five coffers."

You gape at him, eyes blown wide. That’s less than what you pay for bread.

The man turns to you. "Lass, you better keep an eye on him. This one belongs to the sea."

He's... not wrong.

"You really are too kind," Dick says handing the money over.

"Anytime lad. Feel free to come back with more of your stories!" He calls out as you two walk out the door.

“Since when were you a sailor?” You ask, nudging your shoulder against his.

“Since Jay told me stories.” He answers, nudging back.

“So they were all made up?” You ask, shaking his arm.

Dick hums noncommittally.

You frown at him. “C’mon fess up, pup.”

“Not *all* of them. I just spiced up the truth, that’s all.”

“The sirens?”

Dick freezes.

“Wait, are sirens real?” You gape, pounding your hand on his chest.

“Well, kinda.”

“Kinda?!”

Dick walks ahead of you trying to avoid your question. He does the mature thing and plugs his ears with his fingers. You continue to pester him all the way down the street.

The scent from the bakery wafted in the air calling to both of you as you two continue to bicker. Your stomachs cry out in a chorus. You look at your watch. You knew you'd forgotten something.

"I'll get us something to eat," Dick says, clearly staring at the cupcakes. Getting cupcakes wouldn't hurt. It would be better than getting an actual wedding cake.

You shake your head. "I might sit for a bit." You say handing him your purse and wrenching the bags from his grip. He huffs but doesn't complain.

You park yourself on a bench just outside the bakery. Going to town is just as exhausting as you remember it being. You lull your head back, looking to the sky. What are the odds that it's safe to just doze off here on the bench? Probably pretty low.

Dick watches you from a window, snickering. You were so cute when you're nodding off. He should probably ask if they sell coffee too because you look like you're going to need the entire pot.

He lets a woman go in front of him because Alfred taught him manners and not because he was delighted to see you nearly fold into your shopping bags. You startle and yelp then straighten up. Great seas, you're so cute.

"Hey handsome, can I get a name?"

Dick turns to the woman with an amicable smile. "Oh, the name's Dick."

"I'm ..." Dick is barely paying attention when he sees you take out one of the rings you'd bought with a stupidly happy smile on your face as you try it on. You look up at your hand and Dick can't help the twitch of his mouth.

You wave to him, feeling his eyes on you. He waves back with a thousand-watt smile.

There's a hand sprawled on his chest. "I've never seen you here before." The woman purrs. Dick steps back, feeling a bit uncomfortable.

"I'm from out of town-"

"That explains it." She says, batting her eyes.

Dick's not too concerned, not when you've just disappeared from his sight. Dick's about to run outside when he feels a familiar pair of arms wrap around his waist.

"My husband and I are just here for a day trip to run some errands." You huff glaring at the woman.

Dick wraps an arm around you, chuckling at the priceless expression on your face.

"Dickie, did you want to introduce me?" You ask sweetly.

"Sorry, I didn't quite catch your name." Dick says, feeling genuinely bad because he really wasn't paying attention. In his defense, you were distracting him.

"I'm Mia."

"I'm (Y/n)." You say trying not to puff your cheeks. You clearly just want the woman to go away.

Dick wants to pinch you for being so cute. The disgustingly sweet aura you two radiate was enough to make the woman go away. Much to your relief and Dick's amusement. Dick lets himself sink into your embrace.

Dick pinches your cheek as you get the bread from the counter. You swat his hand away with a loaf of slightly stale bread you were gonna rework later. "What?!"

"Nothing, you're just so damn cute, honey." Dick laughs, pinching your cheek again.

"Says the dork who punched someone." You say, pecking him on the lips.

Dick rolls his eyes. "He totally deserved it."

"Sure, sure."

Ok, he did.

Dick pecks your lips. "Let's go find you a bouquet and a minister so you can keep that ring on."

You flush not noticing that you haven't taken the ring off. Dick looks down at you like he's the luckiest man in the world.

“Will it still make you happy?” Dick asks, fidgeting in front of the courthouse.

You raise a brow at him prompting him to elaborate.

“Getting married without a proper ceremony, I mean.”

Ah. You clutch the bouquet of cornflowers to your chest, twining your finger with his. “As long as I have you it’ll be perfect.”

Dick sniffles. “Stop saying things like that.”

“You started~”

Dick presses his forehead against your, letting out a low trill. “I can’t wait to sign on the paper and make you my wife. Officially.”

You nudge your nose against his. “I can’t wait either.”

The minister looks between the two of you suspiciously, probably looking for signs of which one of you suggested eloping. “You may now say your vows.”

Dick takes out a crumpled sheet of paper with yellowing edges. In a cool crisp voice, he begins to speak:

“If I speak in the tongues of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. If I give all I possess to the poor and give over my body to hardship that I may boast, but do not have love, I gain nothing.”

The wind rises in your chest, tears welling up in your eyes. You try to keep yourself together.

“Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hope, always perseveres.”

You cup your hand over your mouth, your father’s words coming to life through Dick’s voice.

“Love never fails.”

Dick reaches out to you, wiping the tears running down your face. You don’t know if Dick knows how much that meant to you but you’re endlessly thankful.

You feel flush. You’re not really sure you could follow that up. God, you really should have prepared more. You take a deep breath and will yourself not to turn tail and run.

Set me as a seal upon your heart,

as a seal upon your arm;

for love is strong as death,

passion fierce as the grave.

Its flashes are flashes of fire,

a raging flame.

Many waters cannot quench love,

neither can floods drown it.

If one offered for love

all the wealth of one’s house,

it would be utterly scorned.

Dick looks at you, fondness curving his lips. You smile back at him sheepishly.

The minister clears his throat. “You may now kiss the bride.”

Dick picks you up and spins you around then brings you close to kiss you. You giggle at his theatrics. In the corner of your vision, you could see the minister just looking extremely tired.

“Give me the bouquet.”

You don’t mainly because you have a policy of making people explain things before you do anything and also because you were hoping to throw the bouquet yourself.

Dick tilts his head. “Uh, give me two.” He pauses. “Please?” “Will you promise me this won’t curse anyone?”

“Just because my dad’s girlfriend is a sea witch does not mean I curse people.”

“And you feel absolutely no need to unpack that, huh?”

“Sweetie, pleeeeeease.” He gives you the big eyes and you silently wonder how selkie divorce works.

You hand him two flowers. He pinches off the stems and says: “Hold out your hands.”

“Can I at least know what kind of ungodly ritual my husband is suckering me into?” You huff as he puts one of the cornflowers in your palms.

“It’s more superstition really. My mom used to say that if you tell a flower about your love for someone and let the sea carry it away, then your love will be able to weather storms.”

You want to tell him that based on the stories the sea had nothing to do with the ferocity of his parent’s love but when you look back into the glitter of nostalgia in his eyes you know that there is nothing for it.

You hold the cornflower close, whispering promises to it, an endless litany of devotions that you hope only the sea will hear. Dick beside you does much the same with regular pauses and additions to his. When you’re both finished, you let the flowers fall harmlessly into the water and watch them, despite all odds, drift together in the ocean.

Dick nuzzles you into the floor. You lay flat on his pelt as Dick hovers over you. He kisses you, nipping at your bottom lip. You hum and slide your hands up his back and part your lips to give him access. Dick pulls away, dragging his lips down your face. His teeth graze on the skin of your neck. Feeling ticklish, you giggle. He smiles pressing another wet kiss to your skin before pulling back. You whine already missing the close contact.

"I think we forgot something." Dick says, gently grasping your wrist and kissing it.

You furrow your brow. You play with his hair as you try to think. "Pretty sure we did everything," you mumble. You shiver when you feel Dick's teeth catch on your pulse, his luminescent eyes staring at you intently. "I'm telling you, sweetheart, you're forgetting something."

You groan. It would be easier to think if Dick's lips weren't on your skin. "We've gotten the rings, thrown the rice, and hit Wally in the head with the bouquet..." You bite back a squeak when Dick sucks a hickey onto your wrist.

"Getting warmer, darling."

You flush. You try to control your breathing but your skin feels so hot against his. You and Dick have met with a minister and he's also carried you over the threshold... All that's left is...

You can feel Dick's hand slide up your shirt, his hand warm against your chilly skin. "Consummation." You whisper, swallowing thickly.

Dick's eyes are bright and mischievous in the firelight. "Bingo." He lets go of your wrist and lowers himself to press a hungry kiss on your lips; it was all tongue and teeth as his hips move against yours. He pinches your nipples between his fingers drawing out a gasp from you. Dick takes this chance to deepen the kiss. He groans into the kiss when you tug at his hair.You moan against him, wrapping your legs around his waist trying to pull him closer. Your movements are clumsy, speaking to your inexperience. Dick is going to take his time with you.

Dick kisses your nose and pulls away. He can’t resist. Dick drags the shirt slowly over his body. He hears your breath hitch and a vain sort of pride fuels Dick’s ego. It was one thing for other people to tell him he was pretty. It was an entirely different thing to have you look at him with so much awe and reverence. That look in your eyes always makes his skin prickle with delight.

You trace the shape of his muscles with your fingers, your mouth parted slightly as you drink in the sight of him. Dick is no less awe-inspiring than the first time you saw him. You marvel over the scars crisscrossing his chest and arms. None of the imperfections on his skin ever managed to dull his beauty. Unfairly, they only enhanced it and took your breath away every time you noticed a new detail about him. Your hand drifts down to the V of his abs; the tough makes him tremble as it dips closer to the hem of his pants. Dick takes in a sharp breath before kissing you again. It was partly because he could never get enough of your lips and partially to get your attention.

“Honey, I want to see you too.” He whispers into your lips.

Your body locks up at his words and a heat spreads across your chest, your neck, and up to your ears. Your mouth feels so dry all of a sudden and your feet turn into blocks of ice. What if Dick finds you repulsive? What if he sees you naked and he can’t stand what he sees? Will he leave or will he smile through it all the while gritting his teeth through it? You’re not pretty, not the way Dick is and you certainly can’t measure up to the other Selkies you’ve met. How the flying fuck were you supposed to compte with Babs or Kori? You seriously consider running away and hiding in your room until you feel Dick’s teeth graze against the column of your neck.

“Please.” He breathes and his voice is so thick with want that it’s enough for you to forget the desire to melt into the baseboards even for just a moment. You don’t want him to be disappointed, to know that he’s traded down. You’re scared. You don’t want to be but you’re fucking terrified.

“It’s ok,” he whispers. “I know you’re nervous.” He kisses your forehead. Dick knows he needs to be patient. He’s waited to feel all of you for this long. He’s willing just to wait a bit more if it means you’re comfortable.

You close your eyes, grabbing the hem of your shirt. Dick kisses your eyelid. He bites his lip, resisting the urge to sink his teeth into your flesh. It’s so supple and hot against his. Instead, he busies himself by helping you out of your bra but his fingers are clumsy with his brain too full of your skin. You giggle as you both fumble for the clasps.

Dick wastes no time peppering your chest with kisses once you’re completely bare. “So pretty.” Dick purrs against your chest. He nuzzles into the valley of your breasts as he feels your breaths even out. Sliding his hands up and down your sides reverently, he makes certain that you know just how beautiful you are with every bite, every kiss, and every touch.

His attention goes to your breasts. You arch your back as Dick begins rolling your nipples between his teeth. He savors all the little gasps and mewls you make. "Dick." You sigh out his name happily. Dick groans, hips gyrating against yours. "Dick." You repeat, tugging at his hair. You rock your hips in time with his.

Your voice is driving him insane. The way his name rolls off your tongue like silk fries his nerves. All he wants to do is make you scream it over and over while he takes care of you and lets you know just how good you feel against him.

"That's it baby, let me make you feel good."Dick says, giving your nipple one last lick before taking care of the other. "I wanna make you feel so good, sweetheart."

The husky quality of his voice makes you shiver. Your fingers travel down his back, fingernails lightly scraping against his skin. He trembles against your as you slide your hand down his chest and down his pants. Your fingertips brush against the head of his member. You wrap your hand around his cock, teasing his head with your thumb. Your thumb is wet with his precum as Dick pants softly into your skin. Dick can't help but move against your hand.

"Sweetheart," he grunts, " I can't... I-"

Dick grasps your wrist, pressing a kiss to it before pulling it over your head. You whine. Dick's breaths tickle your ear as he tries to steady them. He kisses your cheek and nibbles on your ear. Dick grabs your other arm and pins it down next to the other, pinning both hands with one hand. You squirm underneath him, trying to break his hold.

"Let me take care of you." He says, trying to level his voice but you're making it so hard.

You drag your leg up his calf. Dick brushes his lips down your neck, sucking a hickey into every available surface of your skin on the way down your hips and murmuring ‘I love you’ as he does.

"Dick, please." You moan.

"Sweetheart," Dick says, biting the soft flesh of your hip.

You wriggle in his grip causing the hand wound around them to tighten. Dick watches you intently as he bites another hickey into the flesh or your hip. You gasp out his name and Dick can feel his cock twitch. He needs more.

“Shhhh, I know, Honey. Shhhhhh.” Dick says, kissing along the hem of your pants before his teeth catch on the fabric. Dick tugs the button free and pulls the zipper down with his teeth. You think your heart stops. Every little thing he does drives you up the wall. He hooks his fingers to the top of your pants and pulls them down slowly. You can feel the fabric drag against your skin as Dick presses I love yous up your leg.

Dick bites lightly at your ankle as he tosses your pants over his shoulder. Dick licks his lips, they’re plush and glossy from the saliva. He’s looking at you with so much love and adoration that you feel yourself melt. You’re suddenly painfully aware of your nakedness. You snap your legs shut shyly, withdrawing your ankle from his hold. You curl in on yourself, muttering an apology.

He shakes his head, chuckling softly. Dick pushes the hair out of your face. He presses his forehead against yours, kissing you softly and running his hands up and down your sides. Your legs slowly open to let his body closer to yours. You just want to feel his skin against yours.

"I love how your body reacts to me, honey." Dick winks.

You wrap your arms around him, your muscles relaxing a fraction. He can feel the ring on your finger dig into the back of his neck. You are his and he is yours. Dick trills at the thought. You laugh, the vibrations from his lips tickling you.

"I love you. You know that, don't you?" Dick asks, nibbling your lip.

"The whole world knows," you snort, "especially after that fiasco at the town square."

"I had to protect my wifey's honor." He says with a cheeky smile that takes over his face.

"Somehow, I feel like knocking his teeth in was a bit much." You say, pulling him into another kiss because... well, your husband is awfully adorable even if he is a disaster.

"Only seems fair," he says, his hand travelling down your body, kissing your clavicle, "he was being rude to my wife." Dick's fingers dip between your soaking folds. You were dripping just for him. Dick would be lying if he said that didn't inflate his ego. With his fingers curled inside you as he drags them in and out, you arch into him. You thread your finger through his hair and pull.

"Dickie, I want you," you whisper, rubbing your knee against his crotch. "I want you so much."

Dick ruts against your leg, breath ragged and desperate. Dick's body is so sensitive to your touch; it's ridiculous.

"I want you too." He manages barely above a whisper.

"Then fuck me, " you look away from his, biting your lip, "please?"

"Honey," he groans. God, why did you have to say it like that? "You're going to make me cum."

"Isn't that the point?" You ask, your nails dragging on his back as you try and fuck yourself on his fingers.

What did Dick do to deserve you?

"It is," he says, taking his hand out of your folds. "But not before I can make you cum first." He licks his fingers in front of you never breaking eye contact as he does.

You cover your face and squeak because damn it Dick you can't just- Who does that?!

Dick hastily shimmies out of his pants, his cock springing free. You hear a pap as his cock slap against the toned muscles of his stomach. You squeak, peaking through your fingers, the slap ringing sinfully in your mind. Dick lets out an amused breath as he hovers over you. Stroking his length, he smears the precum along your inner thigh, whispering how much you turn him on and how he can't get enough of you.

"Sweetheart, I want you to look at me while I fuck you." He grunts and the air in your lungs evaporate. You think you'll follow suit in a few seconds. "Sweetheart, don't make me beg you."He says into your neck.

Dick, you're not helping, you think to yourself but the saccharine way he always says your pet names has you giving into the request. Dick is smiling down at you and your heart melts. He kisses you deeply. You wrap your limbs around him, your heels digging into the small of his back and your fingers tangled in his locks as he slowly enters you.

He moans into your lips and you moan into his. There's a burning stretch inside you that has you begging for more. He bottoms out and your walls flutter around his cock trying to accommodate his girth. A shiver travels up his spine feeling your velvet walls trying to milk his cock. Dick pulls away from the kiss to whisper: "I love you."

"I love you too, hubby. Please move."

"Aye aye, wifey." He says slowly, pulling his length out. You can feel the long drag of his cock against your walls. You mewl for a lack of anything intelligent to say.

The sound is enough to egg him on. He pushes in and out of you in long strokes, enjoying how your body rocks against his chasing your own pleasure. You pepper kisses to his chest and leave your own marks. Dick would be embarrassed by the lewd noises he makes as you do so but he's too caught up in you to really care. He doesn't even care if the whole world can hear him right now, all he cares about is that you're his and that you're loving this as much as he is.

"Baby, you feel so good. Your pussy was made for me. Ah!" Dick says, his hips stuttering when he feels you clench at those words. He kisses your shoulder. He loves the way his name falls from your lips as if it's the only thing you know how to say. "That's it baby. You're so pretty moaning and gasping and begging for my cock."

All Dick can focus on is the sound of your skin slapping against his. You kiss up his neck, nibbling at his Adam's apple as he swallows. "Dickie, I want more."

Dick's mind comes crashing to a halt.

"Dick, please. I want to feel you more. Please, go faster." You say, voice husky with want. It makes Dick feel like his body has turned to gelatin.

He kisses your forehead, a blush spreading across his skin. "Sweetheart, I can't."

"Please Dick." You breathe, pouting at him.

Fuck, you can't look this cute while begging him to fuck you... twice. That's just not fair.

"Sweetheart, if I go any faster, I'm going to cum." The embarrassment is hard to hide.

You drag your nails across his back and lick a stripe up his neck." Dick, I want you to fill me up. Dick, please, I'm so close." You beg, teeth catching on his collarbone, looking at him with watery eyes.

Dick is a sucker and he can never say no to a pretty face. He kisses one of your eyelids before slamming his hips into yours. His balls slap against your skin as he thrusts in and out with wild abandon. He thrusts deeper at an angle that was sure to hit your g spot every time.

You sing his name sweetly as you pull him closer. Your nipples rub against his chest as you bounce on his cock. Your walls constrict around him making it harder to pull out every time. All he wants to do is to stay inside you and revel in your warmth but he wants to bring you over the edge and fuck you stupid. He rolls your clit between his fingers as you whimper into his neck.

You both cum crying each other's name. Dick kisses you as he fucks you through your orgasm, painting your walls with his hot seed.

Dick rests his weight on top of you as he pulls out with some of his seed painting your inner thigh. "I love you." He pants.

"I love you too, you heavy lug." You grouse, trying to push him off of you.

Dick has mercy on you and rolls you two over with you resting on top of him, perfect for cuddling you.

Dick whispers "I love you" and other praises every time he opens his mouth and you return the sentiment by kissing a different part of his face.

After a few moments of basking in the afterglow, Dick flushes seeing just how many hickeys he's left you and he flushes even harder seeing his own chest marked up.

"Sorry about that," He says kissing one of the marks. "I just can't help myself-" Kiss "-You look so pretty covered in love bites-" Kiss "-Sweetheart, you gotta stop sounding cute. I'll get hard again- Fuck."

Your hand wraps around his shaft, fingers brushing against his skin experimentally. "But I want you." You say bluntly.

Dick is going to combust. "I want you to. I've wanted you like this for so long."

You stop. Your thumb brushes against the tip of his already leaking cock. Your lips curl into a smile. "Is that why you were so adamant on getting married?" You snicker, booping his nose with yours.

"No, yes, maybe... partially." He stammers out.

You snort. "You know that wasn't necessary for us to..." The flush creeps back on your lips. You somehow have the audacity to look shy while still stroking his shaft. Dick is going to burst.

"I didn't want you to miss out on it," Dick says steadying his breath, feeling himself get harder as he talks or attempts to, "I wanted you to experience it since you told me you dreamt about it as a kid."

You stop and Dick bucks to urge you to keep going.

"You remembered that?" You ask, the expression on your face is complicated.

Dick sits up, brushing a finger against your cheek. "Of course, I did."

"Dork." You sniffle, kissing his cheek.

"Only for you," He laughs but it's cut off by the movement of your hand. "Sweetheart, are you trying to kill me?" He gasps, biting into his knuckle.

"I'm only thanking you for being so sweet." You tease, spreading your mixed juices all over his cock. "and I just love my hubby that's all."

____________________________________________________________

Thanks for reading!!!!!!

Tag list: @batarella, @anothertimdrakestan, @lucy-roo, @multifandomgirl-us, @idkmanicantenglish , @birdy-bat-writes, @boosyboo9206, @americasmarauders , @l-inkage, @arestorationofbalance , @cloudie-skay, @wunderstell @hyp-oh-critical @glorified-red @ marshmallow12435 @vvipgot7be @jadedhillon

#dick grayson #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson x you #dick grayson imagine #dick grayson smut

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kashi-prompts · 4 years ago

Text

Prompt: Above (but slightly altered)

Pairing: Kakashi x Reader (POV alternates between them)

Wordcount: 4,963

Rating: M

Trigger Warning: Graphic depictions of domestic violence, implied/suggested rape, and violence

A/N: Ok, so I got carried away with this one. This prompt has been in my head for a long time, and I didn’t know where I wanted to go with it. But if you’re a little emo millennial like I am, you’ll remember the song “Face Down” by Red Jumpsuit Apparatus that came out in like, 2010 or something. I listened to this song over and over again one day while I was driving and this idea came to my head. Please abide by the trigger warnings, as I feel this is pretty triggering. But I do hope those of you who enjoy the whole angsty vibe enjoy this.

And [y/f’s/n] = Your friends name

Prompt below the cut:

"Over here," the grip of his hand on your upper arm alerted you that you were moving through the crowd too quickly. He directed you back down the path he wanted to go. Hundreds of people lined the main street of Konoha in the culmination of the day's festival. You looked up, adjusting your kimono as you noted some teens arranging fireworks to be set off on the roof across from you.

"This is a festival to celebrate love and relationships," you reminded your husband, frowning as he continued away from the festival's main road. You pushed a piece of hair away from your face, the hot air causing it to stick to your forehead with sweat.

"What does it matter? We're already married, aren't we?" Aiko sighed, his irises pointing north in irritation. You noticed and agreed not to speak of it again.

"Hey, Jiro!" Aiko's demeanor changed instantly at the sight of his friends huddled around a table, sake being poured generously all around. Slapping his hand between the man's shoulder blades, you watched your husband smile for the first time that day.

Within moments, the lanterns in the streets were lit, and a glass of the fermented alcohol shoved haphazardly in your hand. The three men leaned against the table as you watched more people walk by, snippets of conversations passing you. You smiled dolefully as a young couple crossed the path before you, their enamored expressions radiating off their faces.

You wearily twisted your wedding band with your thumb.

Across the street, three men leisurely pitched themselves against the plank siding of Konoha's Dango shop. Despite the men lacking the commonly ordered shinobi uniform, one could still discern the nature of the three ninjas simply the way they displayed themselves. Although they were not on duty at the moment, their demeanor barely skimmed the surface of leisure.

"Oiy," one burly gentleman sighed, exasperated by his friend's lack of interest, "Kakashi, won't you put that book down? Just enjoy the evening."

The taller man shrugged, the tilt of his grey hair below the paper lantern above casting a shadow over his already partially covered face. He turned another page calmly, not looking up.

"I'm here, aren't I? Isn't that enough for you both?" Kakashi responded, his thumb resting between the pages of his novel. A single dark eye glanced up at the two men.

"Just listen to Guy," the brown-haired man exhaled, gesturing to the enthusiastic friend between them. "It would be nice to have you present once in and while. Maybe you can find a girlfriend here instead of always relying on that stupid book of yours for pleasure."

Kakashi sighed heavily, scoffing at his friend and snapping the book shut in his palm, replacing it in the pocket of his kimono. Above them, the sudden popping sounds of fireworks shooting into the night sky filled the air.

"I love the energy here," the man named Guy proclaimed suddenly, turning to look at the teenagers on the roof above them set up another round of colorful bursting rockets. The man clenched his fists in enthusiasm, smiling broadly.

"I remember being that young," he said suddenly, "the rich life of youth!"

Kakashi folded his arms across his chest and slumped deeper against the building. He had waited for this festival to end hours ago, imagining the familiarity of his warm bed at home and the burning desire for his mind to rest in the comfort of the book in his pocket.

As the stream of citizens bustling down the dirt street finally divided, the silver-haired shinobi's eye settled on a woman across the street. Despite the clarity of her disquieted gaze, her appearance caught the shinobi's attention as his eye swiveled back to her.

For a moment, something within his mind was set ablaze. The silver-haired man tilted his chin, studying the woman as she nursed a small glass of the clear liquid in her hand. Her slender fingers tapped against the drink while her thumb nervously twisted at the silver band on her ring finger.

Behind his mask, he frowned slightly. She was taken, obviously. How could she not be? There was a grace to her that would be swept up by any man lucky enough to get close to her. Despite the obvious conclusion that he had made about her status, his eyes couldn't seem to leave her. The uneasy expression on her delicate features tugged at something within him.

"I'm going to go get us a drink," Tenzo clapped a hand to his thigh, leaning forward from the wall. "Sound good?"

Kakashi nodded, looking away from the woman as another pack of eager teenagers wandered between her and the men. Instead, he watched Yamato push his way to the bar across the street where she stood, offering three fingers to the bartender in request.

As Yamato waited, Kakashi observed the man at the table in front of the bar. A boisterous laugh echoed from the man's husky chest, slamming down an empty glass that once held a generous amount of sake.

"If I really wanted to, I could take on any of these shinobi," Kakashi heard the man say to his friend. "I don't need to know any of that ju-ju shit."

Beside him, Guy was oblivious to the entertainment unfolding before them. Kakashi managed to stifle a chuckle, looking away as the man began to roll up his sleeve to show off his beefy arm muscles. His single eye swiveled back to the woman, clearly embarrassed by the man's humiliating masquerade of virility beside her.

The connection was suddenly made clear to Kakashi.

"Hey, you!" the man yelled over the table, pointing to Yamato as he used an extra wooden hand to carry the three glasses back to his friends.

"You're a shinobi, aren't you?"

"Yes," Kakashi heard Yamato say, clearly unaware of the man's prior antics moments before, "Why?"

"C'mere for a second," the man chuckled, waving the shinobi over. The burly man's friends snickered around the table, turning around to observe Kakashi's friend. Kakashi stood straighter. Beside him, Guy did the same, also suddenly aware of the strange situation displaying before them.

A fist flew through the air without warning, and the sound of shattering glass filled the bar. Three glasses of sake spilled around their feet as Yamato's hand gripped the man's fist in front of his face agilely.

"Aiko, stop!" The woman Kakashi had noted minutes before cursed at her husband, her eyes wild with embarrassment and anger. "What is wrong with you?"

Yamato pushed back with one hand as Kakashi and Guy carefully made their way across the street to assist if needed. The man stumbled back, shaking his head in disgust.

"You men are useless," he spat at Yamato. Kakashi and Guy stood at Yamato's shoulder. "All you stupid fucks do is go out and use your little magic to bring war to our village. Just because people aren't inherently born with your stupid-"

"That's enough," Kakashi commanded suddenly, taking a step forward. His other lid slid open, the twirl of three tomoe in his glowing eye a jarring sight to the group of men. Aiko scoffed, brushing off the scarecrow's display of authority before sitting back down.

Kakashi turned, impervious to the man's words. As Guy opened his mouth beside him, Yamato quickly directed him away.

Making his way back through the crowd, Kakashi glanced over at the woman beside him, her expression a blend of humiliation and gratitude.

Clutching your drink, you stared at the silver-haired shinobi in front of you as he passed. The glow of his red eye eerie as he slowly closed his lid again. Did he know?

******

2 Months Later

The humidity in the air was stifling. The typical steady flow of children darting about in the streets seemed to have been reduced to merely a trickle of one or two Genin desperately trying to cool themselves with the gardening hose outside the Yamanaka Flower Shop.

The wait between missions was always a relatively appeasing time for the jounin leader. Although today, as he patrolled the streets with a book in his hand, he longed for a mission to a place with a cooler temperature than the sweltering climate he walked the streets in now. Drips of sweat cascaded down his spine, dampening his undershirt all the way to his vest.

"Oh!" was all Kakashi heard as he felt the weight of someone walk into him. The pages of his book flew through the air, minging with a bag of groceries that fell to the ground.

"I'm sorry!" he heard as he quickly assessed the situation. A messy lump of [y/h/c] knelt before him, picking up the groceries that had been scattered about the street.

"No need to be sorry," he told the woman quickly, kneeling beside her.

"I should have been looking where I was going," clearly flustered by the situation, she continued to grab her groceries and place them back in the bag.

"It's okay," he chuckled, glancing up at her. His chest tightened for a moment as he viewed the woman he had seen in the bar a few months prior. Her beauty remained, but the apparent cast of malaise had overtaken her. He blinked, taken aback by the situation that had suddenly unfolded before him.

"Are you okay?" He asked, lifting an arm to her shoulder, "did you hurt yourself?"

She evaded his touch, pulling away with her bag of groceries. He withdrew his gesture as she stood, clutching the bag to her chest. Looking down, he observed the wedding band still on her thinning finger. She looked ill, he thought. Or, at the very least, quite exhausted. Beneath his mask, his lips curved into a frown.

"I'm fine. I must be going," she told him quickly, brushing by him. It was now evident to the jounin how this large bag of groceries had obscured this woman's view enough to run into him in the first place.

"Let me at least help you carry your bag," Kakashi offered, taking a step towards her.

"No!" she told him quickly, pulling the paper bag away from his grasp. "I'm fine, thank you."

As she turned the arm grasping the bag away from him, his single eye glanced down at a deep-set bruise on her upper arm. The clear markings of four fingers having once gripped the skin caused his stomach to churn uncomfortably. He opened his mouth, attempting to frame a sentence of carefully composed words to her, but only a pause came from his lips.

Without another word, the woman turned from him and quickly began heading over the bridge to the other side of town. Her gait struck him as rather peculiar, almost as though she were trying to make up the time she had lost moments before. Looking down, he grabbed his book from the dusty street and shoved it in his pocket, uneasy from the interaction.

****

3 Months Later

Fall had arrived before you had even noticed the conclusion of the warmer days of the year. The lustrous canopies of trees that cocooned the village had shifted to autumn's mute yet vibrate colors. The crisp air of the night nipped at your cheeks as you walked at the ankles of your husband, keen to keep a distance yet knowledgeable enough not to fall behind.

Another festival had arrived, this one focused on family. The two of you were supposed to be a family, having been married over two years ago. Yet you didn't feel like that was the case. It was almost as though the moment you had said "I do" to Aiko, he had changed. He had wanted a maid, a mother, and a ragdoll in one package.

As the evening had progressed, you were sure he had learned his lesson from the previous spring festival. But once the arrival of his friends had commenced, you knew it would be similar. The gnawing, raw feeling in your stomach caused acid to flow freely into your mouth.

You remembered the last festival, the one where he had made a fool of himself in front of those shinobi men. He had scolded and ridiculed you for not supporting him at that moment. It was considerably evident that your husband was no match for a trained ninja of the Leaf. Yet, his disgust for the protectors of the village only grew more. You suspected it was rooted in jealousy.

Not realizing the extent of his burned complex that night, you had continued to go about the evening, unaware of what was to come. Once you had arrived home, it had been the first time the verbal abuse had turned physical. The memory of his grip flush against the curve of your neck, pinning you to the wall as he spat in your face, was as clear as it had been the night it happened. You could still hear his words, appalled that his wife had not supported him- maybe then he would have won. You could still feel the glass that had shattered and plunged into your skin as he threw you into the coffee table.

You took in a shaky breath, trying to calm your anxiety that rose within you. You prayed it wouldn't be that kind of night. You prayed it wouldn't be the type of evening where you were both his physical punching bag and his sex ragdoll. The apologies he whispered to you after as he held you down to "make love" to you caused your skin to crawl.

The abuse was blatant; there was no denying it. You couldn't say to yourself, "he loves me," because he did not. Yet, you couldn't find the strength or the dignity to leave. The more his words stung, the more you felt you deserved them.

As you traveled through the street, you looked around, watching families partake in the street vendor sweets and games provided to them. Your hand went to your stomach, the emptiness within it a sad reminder that you were still not a mother.

"What are you doing?" Aiko asked abruptly, his voice dripping with contempt and impatience. You turned your head, hurrying back over to him as you hadn't even realized you stopped walking.

"Sorry," you mumbled.

Later in the evening, the wind had picked up, and the festival lanterns waved in the breeze. Once again, the sake was flowing freely. It was setting up to be just as it had been that night in the spring. Your skin itched with anxiety. The wedding band on your finger was looser than before, falling to your knuckle as you sipped your drink nervously.

"I bet you could take him out," you heard Aiko's friend say to him. Your eyes widened, and you looked to the sky, a silent prayer for peace falling from your lips. The obsession with shinobi had only grown worse since the incident. As unbenounced ninja passed them on the street, spit would fly from your husband's mouth to their sandaled feet. Mortified, you would always look away.

But tonight, as you looked over at your husband in the bar, you realized the three men from that evening were behind him. The realization of what your husband and his friends were discussing hit you, and you quickly sucked down your alcohol to ease your distress.

That shinobi that had helped you in the street that one day was there as well—the same one with the dancing red eye that had looked at you at the spring festival.

Was he looking at you? You wondered, catching the gaze of his dark eye from across the room. You looked down at your empty drink, feeling a blush creep up your neck that didn't seem like it was from the sake.

He was handsome, you thought to yourself. You remembered the day you had bumped into him in the street, the way he had chucked at the way you apologized so profusely. When he had walked by you with that eye that night in the spring, it had felt like a real shock of electricity ran through your body.

A clamor of chairs brought you out of your daydream as you quickly looked up, startled by the sudden noise.

"Aiko!" you yelled, seeing your husband up against a wall with the forearm under his neck that belonged to the same shinobi he had tried to fight in the spring. This couldn't be happening, you thought.

The shinobi with a terribly styled bowl cut pulled your husband off of the young man, restraining him.

"What is your problem?" the brown-haired man shouted to Aiko, pushing him as the other held him in a headlock.

"Guy, Tenzo!" the silver-haired man stood between them, pulling the men apart.

A glob of spit flew through the air, hitting the man named Tenzo in the cheek. He gritted his teeth, angered as your husband looked at him in satisfaction.

"Fuck you," Aiko said, "and fuck your stupid job."

"Tenzo!" Kakashi forcefully shoved his comrade back as he lunged towards the man. "Enough! Guy, let's go!"

Embarrassment flooded you like no other. The overwhelming realization of what had just unfolded before you caused acid to erupt in your stomach. You put your glass down, running out of the bar and into the street. You didn't care if your husband couldn't find you - you didn't care about it at all. You were mortified, mortified to be around him, associated with him, to be married to him.

You pushed through the crowd, finding a dark alleyway at the end of the street where you could find solitude and rest for a moment. Tears streamed from your face as you slid your back down the side of a building. You held your face in your hands, unable to control the sob that erupted from your chest. You stayed there, clutching your knees to your chest as time ticked by.

You were angry with yourself. You were disgusted for having been stupid enough to get yourself in a situation with such a dreadful and disorderly man. This was your fault, you thought. Your responsibility for not seeing the signs, for not realizing who he was -

"Get up," you heard, interrupting your thoughts. Your body froze, unable to register the gravity of what was about to happen. You looked up, seeing the outline of your husband against the backlight of the street behind him.

"Please, Aiko, I'm just-"

"Get up!"

You stood to your feet, your knees shaking uncontrollably beneath you. There was nothing you could do now. You had to deal with whatever was going to be delt to you. The rational side of your brain knew it wasn't your fault he had made a fool of himself, yet his tainted reputation and burned-out dignity only enraged him more- and somehow, you felt responsible. You were his punching bag - his relief.

"Why did you leave?" he demanded, taking a step forward.

"I was feeling ill," you told him, standing your ground as you lifted your chin.

"You think you can leave?" he asked, his hot breath on your face. The stale smell of alcohol on his breath tickled your nose, causing nausea to churn in your stomach more.

"You think you're better than me? Do you think this is all a game? That these men are better than me?"

"I never-" the sudden grip of his hand on your jaw caught your tongue between your teeth, the taste of metal in your mouth quickly spreading.

"You disgust me," he seethed, the sweaty skin of his nose touching yours. Without hesitation, he threw your body to the side of the alley, slamming your head between the trashcans.

"Go ahead, get up," he urged you mockingly as his foot slammed into your stomach.

"Get up!" he yelled, watching you curl your body in pain on the concrete.

Aiko curled his hand into a fist, raising it above him as he leaned down. You braced your body for impact, knowing full well what was about to happen. Anger at yourself overwhelmed you.

The sound of trashcans being pushed to the side abruptly filled the air of the small alleyway. You felt one hit the top of your head, and you moved quickly, sitting up with wide eyes. Your husband's arm was twisted behind him, and his face pushed into the brick building behind you. Blood seeped from a cut on his forehead.

"You can't hit a real man, so you think you can hit a woman? You feel like a man now? Huh?"

The comprehension of what was happening hit you as you scrambled back from the scene. The silver-haired ninja with the red eye slammed your husband harder against the wall, using the firm grip on Aiko's wrist to move him as though he weighed nothing.

"Get off of me!" Aiko cried furiously, forcefully trying to free himself from the man's grip. You looked down, seeing the shinobi's forearm flex as he gripped your husband's wrist tighter.

"Break your arm," the shinobi urged mockingly, "that's the only way you'll get out of this."

Your husband thrust himself backward, wildly trying to free himself. Your eyes widened as you watched in one swift motion the shinobi pull Aiko to the ground, a fist landing firmly on his jawline. You closed your eyes, hearing the sounds of knuckles to flesh penetrate your mind. A mixture of anxiety and relief overwhelmed your senses.

When the noises had settled, you looked up, watching the shinobi's chest heave in and out as he caught his breath—blood coating his knuckles. Your hand went to your mouth, shaking. He turned to look at you, his red eye open and glowing in the darkness. You scrambled to your feet.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he said quickly, his expression turning from blind rage to concern. "Are you okay? You're bleeding."

You reached up, touching the trickle of blood that streamed down from your hairline as the adrenaline from the situation began to die in your system. You felt dizzy, whether from the situation or the injury, you weren't sure. But when you looked back up, the man's spinning red eye was closed again, and he stared at you with worry.

You looked to your beaten husband, his face puffy and red as he slumped against the wall, unconscious.

"Is-Is-" you tried, words failing you as your body shook uncontrollably.

"He's not dead," the shinobi told you quickly, "just unconscious. I just - I saw what he did to you and - he's the lowest scum on this earth."

His words fell silent as his chest still rose and fell with heavy breaths. You looked up at him, your eyes locking with his. The adrenaline and anxiety that had been building up in you peaked as your knees gave way below you. Your body fell to the ground as you let out a loud sob, one that had been accumulating within you for months. The overwhelming, unrelenting sense of fear that consumed you day in and day out had diminished, if only for a moment, right now.

"Hey," he called quickly, kneeling before you. His voice was calm. You felt his hand on your shoulder, gentle and assuring as you cried. "Hey, it's okay."

"This is my life," you felt the words tumble from your mouth, "this is how I live, day in and day out. These bruises are normal; this fear is normal."

His silver eyebrows turned up in grief as waves of emotions overtook your body. After a moment, you felt an arm wrap around your shoulder, pulling you into his chest. This stranger, having saved you and comforted you in a dark alley in the middle of a festival. This stranger, who knew nothing of you, yet held you close to his beating chest as you clutched his kimono. You felt his hand on the back of your head, his skin sticky with your husband's blood.

"It's okay," you heard him say to you, his chin atop of your head, "It's okay. I'm not going to let him hurt you again. I promise."

*****

Spring had come again. The blossoming sakura leaves a staple as the annual festival celebrating love commenced in the streets once again. You walked by yourself through the crowd, the newfound strange sense of independence feeling like a breath of fresh air to your lungs. You looked around, observing the same throng of teenagers pass by, another year older.

You stopped, letting the dog at your side sniff a street pole. You smiled, leaning down to pet your brute of a hound. He looked up at you, wagging his tail at the affection you provided.

"Good boy, Megumi," you smiled, flipping his ears warmly. Megumi had been given to you by that ninja named Kakashi after you had returned from the hospital for the severe concussion you had received that night. You were unsure where he had gotten the pup from, but the dogs small, doting eyes staring back at you won you over instantly.

"He'll serve as a good sense of protection," Kakashi had told you, "and if you need any help training him, I'd be happy to help."

That had been the last time you had seen the man who had saved you. Although often, you were sure you had seen him pass by you in the streets, only to realize it was someone else. You wondered how he was doing.

Your husband had been promptly thrown into prison, collected on domestic abuse charges that were not tolerated within the village whatsoever. You slipped your bare ring finger through one of the loops of Megumi's chain. The divorce had been finalized last month.

"[y/n]," someone had called. You turned, seeing your friend, [y/f's/n] wave happily to you. You smiled as she handed you a cup of warmly brewed tea.

"How are you?" She asked brightly, "it's so nice to see you out. And how is little Megumi?"

She bent down to pet the dog's ample head—another tail wag.

"I'm good," you smiled. Your smile was genuine, your heart light. "Thank you. How are you?"

"Happy to see my friend!" the woman smiled, hugging your shoulders from the side. You beamed, laughing with your friend for what felt like the first time in years. Just as you turned your head, tittering off a laugh, your eye caught sight of a turf of silver hair in the sunlight. Your heart jumped in your chest, and you blinked.

"What is it?" your friend asked, her face falling.

"Nothing, it's just -" you tried but couldn't form the words. It had been seven months since you had seen Kakashi. The angle of the lantern's light catching his sharp features as he conversed with his two friends. Beside you, your friend traced your gaze to the man a few meters away.

"Is that-?" she trailed off, watching your face flush as your fingers tapped nervously against the cup of tea in your hand.

"You're blushing!" she pointed out, a playful finger pointed at your nose.

"I'm not," you waved a hand, "I'm just surprised to see him."

"Why don't you go talk to him?"

"Oh no, I couldn't," you shook your head, fidgeting with Megumi's leash.

"But he saved you! You should at least see how he's doing."

"He was just doing his job, [y/f's/n]," you sighed, rolling your eyes at your friend.

"No, it doesn't matter. You should go talk to him," she urged, pushing you towards him.

"[Y/f's/n]!" she pushed you through the crowd, children dispersing as your dog sniffed his way over to Kakashi's leg.

"Hey!" Kakashi chucked to the dog, a smile forming under his mask. His eyes traveled up the dog's chain to you as your friend's hands left your shoulders, disappearing into the crowd.

"[y/n]," Kakashi smiled in surprise, a hint of nervousness in his voice as he looked at you. "I didn't-"

"How are you?" you asked suddenly, feeling your face flush. Kakashi blinked his single eye, tracing your face with his gaze as if to memorize it. You were sure you looked healthier than the last time he had seen you.

"I'm good," he said finally, not realizing his friends disappearing behind him with snickering looks over their shoulder. "How are you?"

"Better," you smiled softly, holding Megumi's leash tightly as the dog sniffed at his feet. Kakashi leaned down to pet the dog, smiling as he patted the side of his chest.

"And I see Megumi is doing good too," he cooed at the hound.

"He is," you nodded, "thank you again."

"Not a problem," he leaned back up, catching your eye again. You looked away, your chest flushing. A few awkward beats passed between you as you watched a couple pass by, their hands intertwined as they strolled down the street.

"Would you- like to grab something to eat?" You heard him ask, his voice dripping with nervousness.

You turned back suddenly, your eyes snapping back to his. He smiled softly, lifting his eyebrows.

"They have some good food stands here this time of year," he commented, "but if you'd rather not or if you're with your frien-"

"Of course," you said quickly, "I would love to."

His eyes perked up at your acceptance, turning into two small crescent moons. He turned, waiting for you to follow. Your instinct told you to stay a foot behind him, but when he waited for you to step beside you, you realized he wanted you next to him.

"So, are you wishing for anything?" he trailed off as the two of you began walking, a smile on your face.

#kakashi x reader #kakashi hatake x reader #Kakashi imagines #Kakashi Hatake #kakashi hatake imagines #kakashi fanfiction #trigger warning #domestic violence awareness

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lucemferto · 4 years ago

Video

youtube

I talk about the current troubles of the Dream SMP.

If you want to help me out, please reblog! You can also retweet my tweet and upvote my reddit post. Thank you.

Script under the cut

I really hope Technoblade succeeds in breaking Dream out of prison.

Now why would I say that? Well, it’s because there’s this feeling in the fandom right now that Dream SMP Season 3 is … going slow. That there’s not much happening. Some have blamed it on the pace of how lore streams are doled out, saying we get too little lore stretched out over too much time. Others postulate that it’s the quality of the lore – that the individual plot points are badly told or that the high production value of certain streams prevent the story from gaining momentum.

Now, because I’m me, I think I identified the problem as something that’s structurally wrong with Season 3 as opposed to Seasons 1 and 2. In order to explain that we must look at one of my favourite narratological theories: the Three-Act-Structure.

But before we get into that, here’s your obligatory reminder to please like this video, comment your thoughts down below in order to help me with YouTube’s algorithm and subscribe if you really like my stuff. Please feel free to check out my social media presences and share my videos on there so that more people have the chance to see them. Thank you so much.

Let’s get back to the video:

Chapter 1: The Three-Act-Structure Explained

The Three-Act-Structure as a model to explain narratives finds its roots far in the past with its earliest recorded instance being in the fourth century by the Roman grammarian Aelius Donatus though similar ideas were also expressed by everyone’s favourite Greek philosopher Aristotle.

Since then, the model has been continuously evolved and used throughout recorded history. There are also alternative models such as the Five-Act-Structure, the Six-Act-Structure, the Eight-Act-Structure, the … Nine-Act-Structure, Jesus Christ. But the Three-Act-Structure has reigned the undisputed champion in modern-day creation and analysis of narratives.

The particulars of the Three-Act-Structure as we know it today were codified in Syd Field’s 1979 work “Screenplay: The Foundations of Screenwriting”, which has since become the Go-To-Work when it comes being a screenwriter in Hollywood. You want to write a script? You need the read the “Screenplay”.

The modern Three-Act-Structure is comprised of the following points/sequences:

- The Backstory/Exposition: Exactly what it says on the tin. Sets up the Ordinary World that the characters inhabit, let’s us know about what character’s general deal is. It serves as an introduction to the story and world of your narrative.

- The Point of Attack: This one is not often talked about and doesn’t feature in every story, but it’s still worth mentioning. This is where the major tension/conflict/dramatic question (structurally, these terms fulfil roughly the same function) is set into motion. It usually doesn’t include the protagonists of the story, but rather the antagonists.

- The Inciting Incident: This is where the protagonists are sent on their way. We are introduced to their personal conflict and given a reason as to why they would have to leave the Ordinary World behind.

- The Turning Point: This marks the end of Act I, where the personal conflicts of the protagonists and the major conflict of the overarching story intersect and coalesce. It is the natural fallout of the inciting incident, the big dramatic status quo change that we need in order to get the story going.

This naturally leads into Act II, where all the minor character conflicts are resolved and integrated into the larger conflict. This is what is referred to as the Rising Action: through the resolution and incorporation of the minor conflicts into the major conflicts, the story gains momentum. The action rises.

This act has two big culminations:

- The Mid Point: The first culmination or Mid-Point sees some sort of shift in the major conflict. Maybe all the minor conflicts set-up in Act I are resolved and thus the major conflict becomes the full focus or the major conflict gains an additional factor. Instead of defeating the evil bad guy, the Heroes now have to defeat the Bad Guy and save the Damsel

- The Lowest Point: The Lowest Point marks the end of Act II. Here the villains are just short of victory or maybe even achieve victory. In a romantic movie, this is the cliché end of Act II fallout which naturally leads into chasing the Hero chasing the love interest into an airport.

With the Lowest Point, the Heroes begin the third act almost or fully defeated. The stakes are high and everything seems hopeless. But then comes:

- The Twist/Resolution: Usually, the twist coincides with either the protagonist or some sort of character having a eureka-moment or resolving their personal conflict – their Want vs. Need.

- The Climax: With their problems resolved, the protagonists can venture forth to stop the villains or antagonistic force or save their love life.

- The Dénouement: After the villain’s defeat/the resolution of the final conflict, the protagonist returns to the ordinary world, but changed by their experiences. The Dénouement is the one part of Act III, that can really drag it out – think the many, many endings of Return of the King for instance.

Up until now, I usually focused on that end of Act II/Act III-part when discussing the storytelling of the Dream SMP such as the Final Disc War, November 16th or Doomsday. Because Doomsday wasn’t just the Lowest Point in terms of storytelling quality.

But for Season 3, I instead want to focus on this section, The Inciting Incident and The Turning Point. Because this is where the current storytelling falters. The narrative has failed to pick up momentum, something that is achieved through a successful Inciting Incident and Turning Point.

So, I want to make the theory palpable and apply the Three-Act-Structure – with focus on Act I and early Act II – to all three Seasons of the Dream SMP to see where Seasons 1 & 2 succeeded and Season 3 failed.

Chapter 2: The Three-Act-Structure Applied

Despite being much less written out and planned and more focused on the roleplay-aspect, both Season 1 and Season 2 somehow stumbled into recreating the Three-Act-Structure pretty well (S2 had its problem, but on the whole, it was still generally discernible).

I’m not here to discuss why narrative conventions and tools of literary analysis are applicable to something as seemingly idiosyncratic as the Dream SMP, I will do that in a future video. For the purposes of this video, we will simply have to take it at face value that these tools are applicable.

Season 1, which was probably the most consistently and competently written out of the three seasons thus far, has a very clear major tension/conflict: Who gets to steer the fate of L’Manburg, whether that be through stewardship or dissolution. It ties deeply into the personal conflict of our protagonist Wilbur as well as the external threat as represented by our villain JSchlatt, the best character in the story.

And not just that, basically every character whether that be Tommy, Tubbo, Niki, Fundy, Dream or Technoblade is invested in seeing this major tension resolved.

All this is achieved through a wonderful inciting incident and turning point. The inciting incident, the personal conflict for our protagonists, is Wilbur calling a presidential election. He wants to solidify power; his personal conflict being gaining full control over L’Manburg – I will talk about it more in my Wilbur-video.

This leads to the Turning Point, which in this case is a very natural cause and effect: Wilbur loses the election his sense of self shattered and JSchlatt, best character, takes over L’Manburg declares himself Emperor and exiles Tommy and Wilbur. The protagonists are forced out of their Ordinary World and the dynamic of the server is changed forever. The Main Tension or Major Conflict has been fully established.

This has server-wide consequences that every character is impacted by. All the many personal conflict are now framed by this all-encompassing major conflict. Thus, everything feels like it’s building up towards the same climax. Whether that be Fundy’s personal conflict as a deep-undercover spy, Niki’s conflict as the resistance in Manburg, Quackity’s struggle for power under Schlatt or the threat of Schlatt trying to expand Manberg into Dream SMP territory.

This even applies to the most disconnected conflict in Act II: The War between Sapnap and Tommy. Because even here, Sapnap’s stated goal is to gather enough power to take over Manberg. Now, that the power dynamic has shifted once it has signalled to other antagonists that the power dynamic can shift once more. The Balance of the Ordinary World is disrupted.

And from the Pogtopia-side, this conflict serves as a great way to not only build up their team, but also as a mini-version of their major conflict. If they cannot defeat Sapnap, what chance do they stand against Big Bad Emperor Schlatt.

Season 2, in spite of all the problems that it has, also managed to pull off the inciting incident and turning point rather well. The Inciting Incident here being Tommy burning down George’s house – his intent being to gain some leverage to win his discs back – which then again lead very gracefully into the Turning Point: Tommy being exiled from L’Manburg.

Tommy’s personal conflict – regaining his discs – was folded into the major conflict: Breaking Dream’s grip over the SMP (and in effect creating a new power dynamic on the server).

Tommy’s exile led to Tubbo being pushed by Quackity to institute the Butcher Army – an antagonistic force intent on making L’Manberg the strongest nation on the server; in effect dethroning Dream. This would of course lead to Hog Hunt and Technoblade’s involvement; ultimately bringing a lot of momentum into the narrative.

Now, Season 2 doesn’t pull this off as graciously as Season 1: You will have noticed that both the Inciting Incident as well as the Turning Point are pretty exclusively focused on Tommy which leads to the major conflict revolving mostly around Tommy and the characters in his orbit – which is not ideal when dealing with an ever-expanding ensemble cast.

While Season 1’s Inciting Incident and Turning Point also had Wilbur as their centre point, they were open enough to allow for other characters such as Quackity, Sapnap and most crucially Schlatt to naturally integrate themselves into the narrative.

What also doesn’t help is that the Rising Action up until the Midpoint is almost exclusively focused on Tommy as I discussed in my Philza-video. There is dramatic and narrative momentum, but it comes at the expense of basically every other character or storyline. The Butcher Army and New L’Manburg are painfully underexplored.

But still, despite its flaws, Season 2 managed to get the ball rolling. So where did Season 3 go wrong?

The main problem that Season 3 has is that it presented us with a large number of potential inciting incidents, but no concrete turning point. We have a lot of personal conflicts, but are as of yet missing the big major tension or conflict that ties it all together; that gives the framework in which the personal conflicts of the characters can intersect and resolve.

I think just to showcase how scattershot Season 3’s storytelling is right now; I’ll have to list all the big plot points of the season as they happened:

1. Tommy meets with the Egg and shows an immunity to it. The Egg orders the Eggpire to kill Tommy in order to proceed with their plan

2. The prison gets into lockdown mode, while Tommy is visiting Dream

3. Tommy gets killed by Dream

4. Tommy gets resurrected by Dream

5. Technoblade and Ranboo come into contact with the Egg

6. Quackity comes into contact with the Egg

7. The Syndicate meets up and checks out Snowchester

8. Tubbo loses a nuke

9. The Red Banquet

10. Tommy breaks into the prison

11. Wilbur gets resurrected

Now, quite a number of those could have worked as either inciting incidents or turning point with some narrowing the scope of the narrative more than other. The early points involving Tommy for instance would have pushed him again into the role protagonist akin to how it worked in Season 2, while others like the Syndicate, the Red Banquet or Wilbur’s resurrection would have established the respectively involved groups or characters as the drivers of the major tension.

But none of these avenues are taken. All these conflicts are still insular; their resolutions don’t build to anything.

Tommy’s resurrection – which in my opinion is the first plot point that could have been used as the Turning Point relatively easily – changes the course of the prison and Las Nevadas-storyline, but has little to no impact on the Eggpire, Syndicate or Nuke-storylines.

Similarly, Tubbo losing the nuke could have led to the major tension becoming every faction hunting for the missing nuke in order to fulfil their personal agendas. But again, no dice.

And this just keeps adding up and up. Each new plot point subconsciously leads the viewer to expect that this will be the one to establish a major, unifying tension for the season – and then nothing comes of it. Though the volume of “lore” is still relatively high, the narrative momentum that is needed in order to make the viewer invested in the storyline is diminished with every potential turning point that is ignored in favour of more set-up.

And this structural problem of Season 3 when compared to Seasons 1 and 2 is made the most apparent when looking at …

Chapter 3: The Eggpire

Oh, my poor boys. Where did it all go wrong?

To give some context: The Eggpire or Crimson-storyline actually started in the middle of Season 2, where they managed the impossible: Establishing a storyline with some narrative momentum and impact outside of the major conflict.

So, how did they do that and do it successfully at that?

The first thing we need to understand is that the Season 2 Eggpire-storyline basically involved no one from the “principal cast”. As such, the story was not chained to the developments that were going on there – such as Exile, Hog Hunt, the Green Festival, etc. – and instead had more freedom to do their own stuff.

The Eggpire-storyline in Season 2 was for the most part self-contained. So much so, that people were viewing it not as a part of the on-going narrative, but rather in the vein of Tales from the SMP: A story that stands alone, the resolution of which would have no impact on the server as a whole.

And, to be fair, they could have gone that route. But the writer(s) behind the Eggpire-storyline decided to be more ambitious.

The Eggpire-storyline in Season 2 follows its own mini-version of the Three-Act-Structure, with BadBoyHalo serving as its protagonist. The big narrative movements coincide and are influenced with dramatic movement in his own personal conflict. He is the Wilbur of this storylines – the once good man (relatively speaking), who falls from Grace.

Now, the thing that makes the Eggpire-storyline in Season 2 quite brilliant is that they ultimately tied the resolution of their tension into the major conflict/tension of the Season 2.

Doomsday saw the Lowest Point of the main storyline of Season 2. With L’Manburg’s destruction and Dream’s future imprisonment, there was a huge power vacuum on the server – a power vacuum that BadBoyHalo, now fully under the control of the Egg, was ready to fill.

The climax of the Eggpire-storyline in Season 2 saw the rise of the Eggpire as they spread the seeds of the Crimson in the L’Manburg-crater, intent on taking over server – thus adding onto the dramatic tension that Doomsday already established, making the Lowest Point feel even more foreboding and successfully linking their erstwhile separate storyline to the main tension of the overall narrative. The villains for Season 3 seemed to be perfectly set-up.

And then Season 3 rolled around and they … bungled it completely.

Though the Eggpire eventually came into contact with almost every active character in Season 3 – such as Tommy, Tubbo, Ranboo, Technoblade and Quackity – they completely failed at driving the major conflict and establishing themselves as the main antagonistic force of the storyline the same way Schlatt and Dream had done in the Seasons prior.

The biggest missed opportunity in that regard is without a doubt the Red Banquet. Now, I talked in the past about how the Red Banquet failed just on its own – at least a specific aspect of it – but now we’ll have to talk about how the Red Banquet fails in the context of Season 3.

Because this was the moment that all the storylines could have been brought together. The Eggpire could have succeeded in their endeavour and established themselves as the most prominent force on the serve. This event would have impacted the server as a whole and thus the entire storyline.

Immediately we would have had a major conflict to drive all other storylines – such as Tommy’s storyline, Snowchester, the Syndicate, Kinoko Kingdom and Las Nevadas – to stop the Eggpire from fully taking over the server. All the character-specific conflicts could have then happened within the framing of this major tension.

Maybe Tubbo and the rest are hunting for the nuke, because they think it’s the only way to stop the Eggpire. Maybe the Eggpire wants to free Dream, because he could be of use for the Crimson. Tommy could get abducted by the Eggpire because he is some sort of chosen one or whatever and the onus would fall on the other characters to save him and stop the villains – so Tommy would become the damsel effectively.

Maybe they decide that the only way to defeat the Eggpire is to bring back Wilbur and that’s how that storyline gets integrated. Maybe the disparate forces disagree on that or other plot-points and there’s some infighting between them.

But still: All conflicts would be unified by this one major tension. The Red Banquet would have been the Turning Point to lead into Act II of Season 3, where all the problems would be viewed with the knowledge that the Eggpire and the Crimson was looming in the distance.

Alas, we did not get that. Instead, the Red Banquet turned out to be just another plot point in a long line of plot points that promises more in the future. Smaller personal conflicts are resolved just within the limited scope of their individual storyline and a major tension is yet to be seen.

When Bad says that there’s just one more Egg-stream planned, I hope he’s either misleading or not being clear enough on what he means. Because if this was it; if the Eggpire-storyline just kinda dies here – too connected to all other storyline to be seen as standalone and yet too separated to be enjoyed in the context of Season 3 as a whole – then it would be a worse writing choice than Doomsday.

Epilogue: How the Prison Break can bring it all together

To bring it all back to the sentence I opened this video with: I hope Technoblade succeeds in breaking Dream out of prison, because this could finally be the Turning Point that introduces a major tension to the narrative of Season 3.

I hoped that Wilbur’s resurrection would fill that role, but disappointingly that plot point is again relegated to driving the tension of a few chosen storylines instead of providing a major tension for all players involved.

And with five months into Season 3, this Act 1 has gone on for far too long! For comparison, the entire written storyline of Season 1 encompassed 4 months. Season 2 took place in only 2 months. Season 3 has already exceeded both their runtimes and still seems to have yet to truly start.

Whether Technoblade breaks Dream out or Quackity succeeds in trapping Technoblade in Pandora’s Vault – there needs to be a turning point somewhere in sight.

Because my biggest fear is that we’re already past it. That the Eggpire-storyline will just fizzle out and that some other plot point will retroactively reveal itself as the turning point – because that would mean that Season 3 would have a horrifically unfocused, saggy and just generally unengaging second act. And that would be a shame.

Thank you so much for watching. Once again, please feel free to like, comment and subscribe. The links to my social media are all in the description down below. I have a bunch of stuff planned for the future including a very long video on Wilbur as well as two videos that have nothing to do with Dream SMP.

Until then, please be excite.

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itsnothingofinterest · 4 years ago

Text

So with the end supposedly approaching (relatively speaking), people have started giving some thought as to who the final threat is really going to be; Tomura Shigaraki or All For One. It’ll definitely be one of them, they’re the strongest and most established villains by a mile; but both have their own reasons for people to think they’ll be the “final boss” of the series. And far be it from me to keep my opinion to myself; I really think it’s going to be Tomura.

I’m not sure if that’s some level of controversial among the fans hoping for Shigaraki’s redemption, as I do believe the alternative’s gotten a lot of traction lately. Because understand that I’m still expecting his redemption too, and don’t expect his hypothetical final boss status to really prevent that. (Practically nothing can, it’s as much a guaranteed outcome at this point as Deku getting his sixth bonus quirk.) Realistically, the only difference would be if he & Deku then team up to fight the evil potato head, or to...just start fixing stuff I guess.

On that note, the eventual redemption is actually one of the reasons I think he’s the better choice. Almost every point of comparison between the two villain I can think of makes Tomura seem like the better choice, actually...with maybe one or two exceptions. So I wanted to go over all those points of comparison & everything they’ve got going for them as endgame villains and why the comperrisons overall seem to favour Tomura as the final boss.

1. Someone who was defeated to the power of just one man

For one, just looking at pure power levels, AFO’s just not as threatening as Tomura; and there’s not really a way to bridge that gap.

Like, Tomura’s obviously more of a threat personally; he’s got the stronger body that was scientifically enhanced, and only he has Decay on top of the AFO quirk and the collection that came with it. It is just a fact that right now, Tomura is far more powerful. And before anyone thinks that AFO could become an equal threat by just taking over & fighting in his body; that’s not true because, along with just more combat experience that doesn’t rely on an arsenal of quirks, Tomura also has that Shimura trick where you remember your origin and become super bad ass. You know, the trick that All Might used to beat AFO in Kamino. In other words, the most dangerous individual in the series right now is the AFO!Tomura body with specifically Tomura in control.

And as long as the slight edge in mentality in Tomura’s favour exists, there’s not really a way to bridge that gap and have AFO take Tomura’s place as the biggest potential threat. Restore or enhance AFO’s original body? That’s just catching it up with AFO in Tomura’s body, which is still behind Tomura in Tomura’s body. Have AFO boost Tomura’s body with him in control? It would still be better with Tomura in control. There’s no scenario where Tomura isn’t the most powerful character in BNHA.

(Well, except maybe AFO weakening him by, say, stripping him of his quirks; but if he has to make things easier for the heroes to become the most powerful, I think that kind of proves my point anyway.)

But one person can only be so dangerous, so lets talk followers. Tomura has a close knit group of friends & allies on top of a vast army super loyal to him specifically that reaches a six digit figure, and AFO...just doesn’t. And I’ll get back to this later; but I don’t think he wants one either. He sticks to just a handful of people useful to him and what’s left of his Nomu. And while maybe that is the better way for him to accomplish his own personal goals, it’s simply not as threatening as the force which Hawks thought could’ve conquered the country if the heroes hadn’t struck first.

Tomura is a country ending threat, who in the right circumstances could fight literally all of the heroes with a chance of winning, and AFO simply isn’t.

2. His own little world

And to return to what I was talking about earlier, I’m not sure he really cares to be either. Like, people say he wants to conquer everything, and I imagine he’d think regaining lots of money & power would be great down the line; but evidence seems to suggest he doesn’t really care much for the country as a whole or any of the major themes being discussed by the actual main characters at the moment.

I mean if he did, he’d probably have rescued the PLF, that army capable of competing with all of hero society. And he probably wouldn’t have told ~10,000 dangerous and powerful villains indebted to him for their freedom to just run amok while he keeps contact with only the ones useful for his personal goals. And he definitively wouldn’t be laying low & sleeping through his enemies lowest moment & giving them a month to recover, also in service to those personal goals. That activity seems to imply those personal goals matter a whole lot more to him than societal conquest.

And what are those goals? Seemingly, taking over Tomura’s body so he can finally steal One For All. To what end, we’re not 100% sure of, but I believe it’s either a) a weird pride thing where he finally has control over his brother who’s rebelled against him for decades upon decades or b) an attempt at immortality as a sentient & transferable body-controlling quirk. Either way it’s some selfish personal thing he just gets others wrapped up in.

He’s incredibly disconnected from the greater themes and conflicts of the story. He seems to have no opinions on heroics besides how people are stupid for attempting them, and no opinion on society besides that it just naturally sucks. He’s mainly just a nuisance for the actual main characters. This self-important old man stuck in his own little world is supposed to be Deku’s final opponent?

Oh, and on that note-

3. Deku who?

We’re also talking about who’s going to be the final obstacle for Deku to face; and the problem with the being AFO is that...they don’t really have much to bounce off of with each other. You might be able to argue slight foil-ment, but they don’t really know each other, nor do they have any kind of connection to each other besides Deku having OFA so he’s AFO’s enemy by default.

(In fact their latest & 2nd convo, which came out as I was drafting this post out, kind of proves that with how AFO basically just shallowly made fun of him for trying to be a hero. That’s basically the extent of their antagonism.)

In fact, I’m like 80% sure this is a major reason for the Dad For One theory existing; just to give them some connection, something to talk about. Because otherwise AFO is just an evil guy known by people Deku knows/wants to save. He’s basically just another, more dangerous Overhaul; who Deku's already fought. And to AFO, Deku’s just another OFA holder acting all high & mighty; which we also already saw him face in the Kamino fight. So what little they do offer each other has already been done for both of them. And there’s nothing wrong with that for carrying a fight, I just wonder if that can really carry the final fight.

Compare that to Shigaraki, who foils Deku in ways so numerous & obvious it’s almost hard to talk about, such as: their position as successors, strategic thinkers, very similar origins, very similar core characters, team players, red shoes, they looked really similar as kids...just to name a few parallels. Contrasting AFO, there is a lot to work with here that would contributed to a good fight that’d double as a battle of ideologies. And admittedly, we know this because it already has, this is also something we’ve seen before; but there’s a lot more unexplored with their conflict, a lot left unsaid that we could see from them arguing their viewpoints. A lot more than from Deku & AFO anyway.

I mean for Pete’s sake; All Might & Shigaraki have more in common and more to talk about than Deku & AFO. That’s a major problem if those two are meant to carry the final battle; which is why I don’t think they are.

4. Just punch him

There’s also the fact that AFO doesn’t really challenge Deku in any real way; and I’m not just talking about how All Might solo-ing him (twice) should logically mean endgame Deku should also be able to solo him. I’m more talking about how...that’s kind of all he’d need to do. If you can just beat AFO up enough then...that’s it, threat over. Wrapped up in a neat little bow.

To compare, Shigaraki is the greatest threat the heroes have ever faced, the victim most in need of saving, and to top it off, he’s got the gall to be both of those things at once. What’s a hero supposed to do with that? That’s a serious question characters are going to have to think about when deciding how to deal with Shigaraki. His position is that of, not just the greatest challenge, but a set of the greatest challenges a hero could face. And that’s before you get into his side representing those oppressed by serious systemic issues that need to be addressed as well; quite possibly simultaneously.

No one needs to address systemic corruption or prejudice to beat AFO though. They just need to punch him real hard. The biggest challenge AFO presents the heroes is “how do we make sure this guy stops being a problem for good when neither our most secure prison, nor removing his head, did the job?”

(Personally, my answer is to have Tomura do it. Because unlike Deku, Tomura actually does have a proper antagonistic relationship with AFO, so he has reason to be the one to end him besides just being the protagonist. Plus he’s under no obligation not to kill, so there’s that.)

And like yeah, that does make AFO the easier guy to deal with, and thus write an ending around (to say nothing of how he's also the most satisfying person to see punched in the face); but does that really mean Horikoshi would want to use him instead of the more interesting option of Tomura? I mean I guess we can’t be sure, there is merit in writing the easy resolution; but I’d prefer the complex finale if I were in his shoes.

5. Horikoshi’s favourite

And lastly there’s just the issue of which of the two Horikoshi’s put more work into. Spoiler alert: it’s not the guy that spent like 200 chapters in jail being menacing every one in a while.

Tomura is by far the more developed between the two, having constantly evolved over the course of the series. And more than just as a character, as described above he’s been developed as the more threatening and challenging conflict for Deku while also reflecting him in a lot of important ways. We’ve seen the growth of his power & influence, we’ve gotten to know & understand his motives, we’ve seen how he’s been failed by heroes before. Everything about him has built him up as the ultimate villain, the most desperate victim, and overall greatest challenge for Deku and the story as a whole to face.

And AFO is...nearly one of those things. Which is pretty much what he was from his first appearance. He has not developed at all over the series, and from what we can tell from his flashbacks, he hasn’t developed at all over the past ~200 years either. (I’m half tempted to call him more inciting incident then character.) What we have with AFO, as far as a character and a villain goes, is pretty much what we’re getting until he’s done. And, well; if Tomura is a better villain & a better pick for final boss than he was then, that gap’s just going to keep growing.

Like, I doubt it really needs stating how Shigaraki is probably the character Horikoshi has put the most work into in the entire series. And a lot of that work, a lot of his development, has gone to the idea of him surpassing AFO or being a villain foil to Deku, who himself is mean to surpass All Might. For his roll to be usurped by the guy he’s meant to surpass just feels like it’s going against that. Like, it’d feel almost as wrong for his character and the story around him than it would for Deku is All Might got his powers back and took over for him as main protagonist. It just doesn’t feel right for Tomura not to be the final villain, is what I’m getting at.

6. ...One saving grace

Okay, but I will admit one thing AFO has going for him that I would be remiss not to bring up. Besides being the most hated character in a series that also has Endeavor in it, I mean. He’s got this one trait that makes him an effective antagonist to anyone in the series; his complete disregard to pretty much every major theme in the series.

I mean think about it; the major themes of Shigaraki’s circle all revolve around trying to fix the society that rejected them; but AFO believes Society just naturally sucks that way as part of human nature, so their cause is doomed. And the heroes’ major themes all revolve around how to become/what it means to be a hero; but AFO believes trying to do good in that society can’t really be done & also it’s ridiculous to believe comic books are real, so their cause is also doomed and they look stupid doing it. So despite not really interacting with anyone’s core conflict or goals in favour of wrapping them up in his own, he still manages a one-sided ideological opposition with nearly every major player in the series; and that’s not nothing.

But, and I completely understand that this is just a matter of opinion, that kind of just leaves him feeling to me like a good antagonist, not a good final antagonist. I’d still prefer it be Tomura even from this perspective, because he’s able to oppose the ideologies of his opponents on purpose & with proper ideologies of his own.

To summarize:

Shigaraki feels the better choice for final boss because he’s more threatening, more interesting, both as a person and as an opponent for Deku specifically, he’s far more directly tied into the themes of the story and their resolution, & he’s had far more set up. AFO is more hated, and his callous disregard for everything everyone else holds important is something I guess, but that’s pretty much all he’s got going for him in compression. I don’t know about you, but I know who I think would carry the conclusion to the series better.

But I also know this isn’t the most popular take among my villain fan colleagues right now. So if anyone disagrees, I welcome any civil discussion about these two & their viability as final boss.

#bnha #bnha manga spoilers #all for one #shigaraki tomura #midoriya izuku #league of villains #lov #paranormal liberation front #PLF #all might #my stupid long term predictions

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the-hidden-writer · 4 years ago

Text

And Into The Fire

Chapter 4: A Not-Quite-Plan

Summary:

Months after the Mitchells saved the world, Linda gets a phone call asking if she’s seen two defective Pal MAX bots. Powerful people are after Eric and Deborabot 5000, and it’s up to the Mitchells to protect them.

Check reblogs for AO3 link!

A Not-Quite-Plan

An agent came running into the office just as Mark was about to take a sip of his coffee.

“Ma’am! We’ve got into #009181987!”

Agent Ward turned off her tablet and stood up immediately.

“About time!” She snapped. “Come on, Dr Bowman, this is where we need you.”

He barely had time to grab his coffee cup as she practically dragged him toward the door by his hoodie.

Ever since they’d locked onto the missing Pal MAX bots, Agent Jennifer Ward and her team had pretty much taken control of Pal Labs. Or at least the headquarters where Mark worked.

He’d spent the past week or so locked in his office with the scary Agent Ward herself. The tall woman had ordered him to come into work every day despite the complete CIA take-over of his company, just to keep up pretences for the public. And he also needed to be kept under supervision at all times for some reason. He was basically a prisoner.

Oh well. At least he had WiFi.

After pulling him out of his office (freedom at last!) Agent Ward led him down the stairs to the main work area, which was a large room filled with rows of computer desks.

At the very back of the room were two large screens on the wall. These were usually used for advertising and announcements, but recently they’d served another purpose.

Displayed on each screen was a status. Before now, they’d said the same thing. But for the first time in weeks, one was different.

Pal MAX #012041966 Status: UNRESPONSIVE

Pal MAX #009181987 Status: ONLINE

“Online?” Mark wondered aloud. “So you actually got into it, huh.”

Agent Ward scoffed. “Of course we did. Don’t doubt my team, Dr Bowman. Especially Agent Travis here.”

As if on cue, the young agent that had come to tell them the news before came rushing in through the door behind them, and almost glided straight into the wheelie chair next to the computer he’d been working on.

“Actually, we got through a couple of times.” Travis explained, huffing slightly from having to run. “But we got kicked out before we could change anything. This is the first time it looks stable and ready to be edited.”

“Well, these robots are based on AI.” Said Mark. “They’re not as simple to take down as ordinary machines.”

“Trust me, we know.” Agent Ward sneered. “That’s the reason we’re in this mess to begin with.”

She turned to her team, who all had their fingers poised over their keyboards ready to begin typing. “Delete any excess data and then start to rewrite the functional coding.” She ordered.

“Rewrite?” Mark had been under the impression that they would just delete it all to stop the robots for good. That’s what they were trying to do, right? “I thought-”

“Yes, rewrite. Anything more is classified.”

One of the agents raised their hands. “Uh, Ma’am? All the data here looks pretty messed up. Most of its data’s been built onto the errors presumably caused by defects, we have no idea what it actually does. There's words liked 'brother', 'mother'-”

“Do I need to repeat myself, Barker?”

Even though it wasn’t aimed at him, Mark couldn’t help but gulp at the way Ward was glaring at the poor agent.

“No Ma’am,” mumbled Barker, “sorry, Ma’am. We’ll start the rewrite.”

~-.-~

The three of them raced into the room with Monchi following close behind, probably because he was intrigued by all the commotion.

Linda didn’t want to believe it. Her robo-boys being sick was one thing, but fighting each other? That was truly unbelievable. They would never.

But unfortunately, it was just as Aaron said.

Deborahbot was kneeling on the bed with his back to the door, repeatedly hitting Eric’s screen by alternating between using the clenched fist of one hand and the open palm of another. There was a “clunk” sound with each impact, and Deborahbot showed no sign of stopping.

“Deborahbot!” Linda exclaimed incredulously.

The bot’s head turned 180° to face them but he did not cease the attack on his brother.

“Mother! Other Mitchells!”

“What are you doing?!” Demanded Rick, aggressively pointing at the bot in the bed. Aaron gripped onto the back of Linda’s pant leg in fear.

“I am more defective than my brother.” Deborahbot stated matter-of-factly, his calm voice sounding quite scary compared to the current violence he was inflicting. “I thought if he was more defective like me, he would be himself again.”

Rick waved his arms in annoyance. “That’s insane!”

“Deborahbot, stop hitting your brother right now.” Ordered Linda.

“Ok!”

Linda felt a small stab of guilt in her heart. Since they’d joined the family, they’d all tried their hardest not to order the bots to do anything. By phrasing things the wrong way, their programming would make them obey commands mindlessly, whereas the Mitchells just wanted them to be themselves. The longer the pair of them went without being given an order, the more their individual personalities shone through.

Deborahbot released Eric and stepped away. Two seconds later, once the command had been completed, he held out a warning hand to the family.

“Wait, Mitchells, stop!”

Linda was about to open her mouth to ask why, only she first noticed the movement on the bed.

Movement. On the bed.

Under the blanket, Eric looked like he was shivering. Or, more accurately, vibrating. The screen that had been full of color before was now its usual black self, and his red marker face was visible again. The only indication that anything was wrong was that the small LED in the corner of his screen was flashing an array of different colors.

“What’s happening to him?” Aaron asked from behind her, and Linda nodded to encourage Deborahbot to answer.

“I do not know for certain, but I think that the infiltrators have successfully entered my brother’s system.”

“You’re speaking normal again.” Commented Rick, though his cautious gaze was fixed on Eric, as if he would spring up and attack them at any moment.

“That is why I came to that conclusion.” Elaborated Deborahbot. “They have stopped attacking me, so they must be focusing more on him.”

Unlike earlier, Linda drew up the courage to approach Eric in the bed. His shaking was growing ever more violent by the second, and without Deborahbot keeping him down it was only a matter of time before he fell off the bed completely.

She gently placed a hand on his shoulder and made her voice as soft and calming as possible.

“Eric, honey?”

“Dear, be careful.” Rick warned from behind her but she chose not to listen.

“Can you hear me?”

It didn’t seem like he was going to respond. Feeling defeated, Linda was about to turn to ask Deborahbot what to do next when a voice spoke up.

“User recognised: Linda Mitchell.”

Eric’s voice was even more distorted than Deborahbot’s had been to the point where it was nearly unrecognisable.

“Uh, Mom?”

“Linda, get back!”

Linda understood exactly why her family was scared. The bots had never, not once, called her by her actual name. To not hear “Mother!” come out of Eric’s metaphorical mouth alarmed her, but still she couldn’t bring herself to step back.

“Brother?”

In a similar situation, the bots never called one another by their given names. It was always “Brother”. It only made them seem closer to one another in a way that the Mitchells themselves couldn’t be.

“Unknown user. Verify”

Aaron approached them with caution, one hand automatically searching for his mother’s own. She clasped it tightly.

“It’s like he’s gone back into robot-mode.” Said Aaron.

Linda squeezed his hand in agreement. Out of the two, it was Eric that always seemed more closely related to all the other Pal MAX bots for some reason. Still, Eric was their Eric, and not one of the mindless machines that tried to blast all of humanity into space.

Then a high-pitched whine echoed throughout the room without warning, causing the Mitchells (and Deborahbot, who mimicked them a second later) to cover their ears from the terrible noise. Monchi began to bark.

Once it died down, Rick frowned and used two fingers to massage his temple. “What the-”

“B-Brother!”

Rick snapped his mouth shut and all heads in the room turned to Eric, who was now sitting up straight on the bed.

“Brother!” Deborahbot called back in relief.

Eric's head twisted to face the three extremely shocked Mitchells.

“Mitchells!” Eric cried dramatically, his words accompanied by a more familiar glitch. “You are in danger. Pal Labs is taking over our systems, and it’s only a matter of time before-”

“I already told them all that.” Deborahbot interjected.

“Oh.” Eric muttered softly. “Aww.”

It put Linda a little at ease to see her boys’ dynamic return so quickly. That must mean things were getting better, right?

“Brother, what should we do?”

Deborahbot had always been reliant on Eric for decision-making. Linda had no idea how the bots managed to form such a human-like sibling relationship.

“They’ve already gotten to me.” Said Eric, solely addressing Deborahbot now. “It’s safer if you power me off until they stop. If you wait a while and they don’t, then you might have to go to Pal Labs and stop them yourself.”

Linda’s immediate thought was: No. She was not going to turn off her boy.

“How do we know if they’ve stopped?” Asked Rick.

Eric glitched before shrugging. “My brother might be able to tell you, but-”

He was interrupted by the return of the high-pitched whine. This time, Deborahbot did not cover his ears.

A few seconds later, Eric’s voice was distorted again.

“Status: online. Location-”

He did not get to finish his ominous speech as Deborahbot had quickly moved toward him and placed his hand under Eric’s head. After a few short seconds Eric’s screen went completely black with only his marker face remaining as he fell back onto the bed.

“Deborahbot!” Linda exclaimed in outrage. “Tell me you didn’t-”

“He told me a plan.” Deborahbot said nonchalantly. “First I had to power him off, then-”

“Yeah, we heard.” Scoffed Rick. “But that’s not really a proper plan.”

“It’s a start.” Aaron piped up. “I don’t really know what’s going on but I think the bots have it better together than you do.”

Linda bit the inside of her lip. She did not like how Deborahbot switched off his brother without permission. They were technically under 18 and therefore not adults, so Linda felt responsibility for their wellbeing and safety. She tried her best to keep quiet to avoid snapping at him.

“So... what now?” Asked Rick.

Deborahbot took a moment to look at his brother before turning to face the Mitchells again.

“I don’t want to wait.” He said blankly. “So I think that we should go to Pal Labs and tell them to stop now.”

Comments make my day! :)

#the mitchells vs the machines #tmvtm #fic #tmvtm eric #eric tmvtm #eric and deborahbot5000 #eric and deborahbot #deborahbot 5000 #linda mitchell #rick mitchell #aaron mitchell #mark bowman #and into the fire

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luxekook · 5 years ago

Text

chapter one.

⇥ pairing: jungkook x reader; eventual bts/ot7 x reader

⇥ genre: college au with fluff, smut & angst

⇥ summary: a series in which the reader meets (and falls for) seven members of the Beta Tau Sigma (BTS) fraternity

⇥ word count: 2.3k

⇥ warnings: 18+, cursing, dirty talk, kissing, hickies, drinking, tatted jungkook, nipple piercings

Chapter One

Fall of Junior Year – 8:57am

I curse every single decision that has brought me to this very moment as I power-walk across campus, sweating under the already blistering sun. Campus in August could easily be compared to a swamp given the amount of unearthly humidity, and I'm pretty sure I currently qualified as the local swamp thing.

The only positive feature in my morning has been the table of free coffee and doughnuts staffed by Student Government. The first day of the fall semester always seems to be accompanied by frantically wide-eyed freshmen and celebratory freebies. However, air conditioning is the only thing I would be celebrating today as I finally reach Tyson Hall – the destination of my 9:00am class.

As I rush to my classroom with one minute to spare, I slump into a seat in the far corner – my preferred location for people-watching out of the large windows and for getting away with doing homework for other classes.

Familiar faces surround me, an unsurprising observation given that this is our mandatory research seminar as psychology majors. I notice my friend Jenni sitting in the opposite corner, eyes glued to her phone screen.

Opening my laptop, I shoot her a text to come sit with me. Her head whips up, black braids moving every which way as she immediately piles up her things and hustles over, “(y/n), I forgot you were in this seminar! I just switched over from quantitative research because I couldn’t take any more statistics – or Dr. Harding.”

Dr. Harding is the dean of the psychology department and has been teaching here for ages. Feared by most psychology students for his tough grading and intimidating persona, he’s actually a huge softie – something I discovered by going to his office hours and seeing all 85 pictures of his grandchildren hanging throughout the room.

“He’s not that bad, Jen.”

She scoffs, “You would say that because you got an A in statistics like some sort of wizard. Besides, Dr. Newman is so much nicer.”

Jenni has an excellent point. Dr. Newman is the main reason I chose this seminar. As one of the most respected researchers at our university, she’s known for her qualitative studies on gender across cultures. I consider Dr. Newman to be a real badass woman and I lowkey stan her.

I turn to reply, but Dr. Newman begins taking attendance and class begins.

Fifty minutes later, Jenni practically drags me out of the classroom, “I cannot believe she kept us the whole 50 minutes. Is she aware that it’s syllabus week? It’s practically law to just read over the syllabus and then dismiss class. This is outrageous– (y/n), are you even listening?”

“Hmm?” I totally had tuned her out, focusing on the number of students flooding the quad. I had missed this – the rush of students heading to class, the yells of people greeting each other from entirely too far away, the buzz of excitement over potential parties…

“Unbelievable. How did I forget you have this whole weird-ass feminist crush on her?” Jenni forges forth, “It doesn’t matter. What are you doing tonight? You’re going out with us, right? Luna and I want to go to Hannigan’s.”

Since the three of us had all turned 21 over the summer, we finally could legally go to the bars in town. Hannigan’s currently holds the top spot on the list of bars that most of the upperclassman frequent. It’s a popular Irish pub downtown known for its cheap beer and mixed drinks.

It’s also BTS’s unofficial hangout – a fact that makes me slightly uneasy. After learning who the higher-ups are in BTS, I have taken to avoiding them like the plague. It was a relatively easy thing to do since the spring semester tended to be less focused on rushing and recruiting for fraternities and sororities.

But now it’s rush season, and I’m pretty much fucked. There will be no avoiding seeing BTS’s president Kim Namjoon out recruiting with his vice president Min Yoongi and his social chair Jung Hoseok. There will also be no avoiding pledge master Taehyung leading around new BTS pledges like a mother duckling. And don’t even get me started on how Kim Seokjin, Park Jimin and Jeon Jungkook will be popping up everywhere to advertise the latest BTS bash.

Sighing, I figure that the chances of actually bumping into them at the bar will be slim, given that it will most likely be super crowded and I can easily blend in.

I turn to Jenni as we keep walking towards our next classes, “Yeah, I’ll go to Hannigan’s. Are you going to come over to get ready at our place?”

Luna and I had moved into a cute little off-campus apartment over the summer. As it turned out, it’s cheaper to live off-campus than on-campus if you look hard enough. We also had it pretty good location-wise being just a few short blocks from both campus and downtown.

“Yes!” Jenni replies, slowing to a stop out front of the science building, “I’ll be over around 8 with tequila. I’ll text you later. I’ve got to go to neuro-psych lab now,” she rolls her eyes, “Hopefully we won’t be kept the whole time.”

Waving, we part ways, and I shake my head.

Tequila never leads to anything good.

Hannigan’s – 10:54pm

Fate seems to be on my side for once in my life. As soon as Luna, Jenni and I walk into Hannigan’s, my eyes are drawn to the back table where the BTS usually sits. It’s empty.

It’s practically an unspoken rule that no one else can sit there, and even though the bar is packed with all other tables accounted for, that one remains vacant – and for good reason.

Greek life essentially has a cult following around here. The Greeks provide status for those who are into that whole exclusivity thing. They also provide the best parties because of the size of their houses and because the university will never complain about one of their best sources of revenue.

I didn’t to rush a sorority way back in freshman year because I couldn’t feasibly afford it. The dues were way out of my price range, considering I was already paying for my education on my own. Luna, on the other hand, is in Epsilon Xi Delta (EXID) and consistently makes me and Jenni tag along to different Greek parties with her.

"Come on, bitches! Let's get some drinks," Jenni drags me and Luna through the packed room towards the bar that is already encircled by a crowd of thirsty students.

Tonight’s plan is simple – stick together, have fun, scope out cute seniors. Having already taken some shots before we left (saving that coin), we’re definitely feeling ourselves, flaunting our outfits like we didn’t spend a good hour picking them out earlier.

I had settled on a black t-shirt dress with a checkered flannel tied around the waist and some black Doc Martens. Luna and Jenni had tried to convince me to wear heels with them, but I knew syllabus week was a marathon – not a sprint. My feet would thank me later, and theirs would be crying.

As the bartender slides us our beers, the opening beats of Cocky AF by our badass queen Megan Thee Stallion blast through the speakers dispersed throughout the bar. Turning immediately to each other, we clink our beers together, take a sip, and head to the makeshift dance floor.

We squeeze and push our way through the masses until we reach a spot towards the back where the crowd has thinned out a little more. Within seconds, we’re in motion, hips swaying in time to Megan saying ‘bitch, I look good and you know that’.

Shaking out my hair, I get in the zone and lose count of how many songs we dance to. Eventually, our beers empty and Luna turns to me, “Another?" She accompanies her shouted question with an unnecessary charade of shot-gunning a beer in case I couldn’t hear her. I roll my eyes, laughing while I nod in response.

“Save our spot!” Jenni yells and disappears into the crowd of dancers with Luna towards the bar.

I continue dancing on my own. Swaying my hips, I decide to put my hair up to try to cool off a little in the sweltering bar. The music shifts into a new song, this one slower, more seductive, a favorite of mine – Lost in the Fire featuring The Weeknd.

As Abel’s angelic voice flows over me, a pair of hands slide over my hips from behind me. I start to pull away, but then I notice – the hands are tattooed. And for some reason, that hot little fact makes me relax into the large body behind me.

Those tattooed hands tug me back even more, bringing me flush against him as he falls into time with my movements. God, this guy can dance – a rarity these days.

His body is all hard muscle and heated skin. His mouth is hot against my neck, alternating between kissing, sucking, and biting. My skin buzzes. Fuck, I haven’t felt this way since–

Turning my head slightly, I can make out the vague outline him and it confirms my sinking suspicion... He’s a BTS boy.

"Hey, noona," he murmurs in my ear, his lips brushing over it as he speaks.

Fuck my life, I think as I shiver involuntarily in response. Spinning to face one of Satan’s henchmen, I toss my ponytail over my shoulder and jut a hip out in both defiance and defense. But really nothing could have prepared me for the sight of Jeon fucking Jungkook, the golden boy of BTS.

He somehow looks like he’s gotten even bigger since the last I saw him playing pong against Taehyung at that party – information that I cannot even comprehend. His left arm is completely tattooed, along with a few smaller ones dotting his hands. I glare at them, blaming those hands for throwing me off.

“Like them?” Jungkook waves his fingers in front of my narrowed eyes, “I got them this summer.” Smirking lazily, Jungkook makes his own perusal of me – taking extra time along the way.

His jaw flexes as his eyes turn molten, “You’re killing me, noona. Tae didn’t mention…” He trails off, swallowing hard.

I follow his gaze. Oh fuck. I had forgotten I decided to forego a regular bra tonight because I wanted to show off my piercings. Just having a thin bralette under my dress, my pierced nipples are definitely noticeable under Jungkook’s heavy stare.

Refusing to give into him, I square my shoulders, “Yeah, I got them this summer, too. But, I don’t see how that’s either your or Taehyung’s business.”

At my words, Jungkook rips his eyes away from my tits to finally meet my own eyes again, “Oh, but it really is our business. Tae said we’d like you and I agree.”

His voice is low and rough, and I swear I can feel it washing over my body, making all of my synapses fire in response.

“We?” I choked out. In full panic mode, I spin and try to leave, but I barely make it a foot away before getting stopped by a now-familiar tattooed hand wrapped around my wrist.

Luckily, a crashing sound echoes from the back table where the other BTS boys must be, and Jungkook lets out a string of curses, “Fucking hell, listen I have to go make sure no one’s hurt, or Joon will kill me. Stay here, okay? I’m not done with you, (y/n).”

His hand rushes up to the nape of my neck, pulling me into him. Our lips fuse together in a brutally hot kiss, his tongue slipping against my bottom lip for a fraction of a second.

And then he’s gone – disappearing rapidly through the fray to manage whatever trouble his frat has gotten into.

I stand there, shaking fingers on my lips wondering what the actual fuck just happened.

“Hey, sorry we took so long! This bitch cut in front of us and I swear she ordered for the entire fucking population of North America—”

Luna smacks Jenni’s arm, cutting her off, “You okay, (y/n)?” Luna peers closer at me, “Holy shit, is that a hickey? We were only gone for 10 minutes!”

My hand flies to my neck as both Jenni and Luna grab me, dragging me to the slightly quieter back alley of the bar. As they conduct the second Spanish Inquisition, I spill the details on what happened.

After a moment of silence following my explanation, they both start talking at once:

→ Jenni: “Hell yes, girl, go off! Jeon Jungkook is fine as fuck…” → Luna: “(y/f/n) (y/m/n) (y/l/n), have you lost your damn mind…”

→ Jenni: “…I’d hit that in a heartbeat. I’m so proud!” → Luna: “…Do you not remember last semester? Are you high? Oh my GOD, did he drug you?!”

“Stop!” I slap a hand over each of their mouths, “Jesus, Mary and Joseph, you guys are impossible. I am not ‘hitting’ anything, and, no, he did not fucking drug me.”

Sighing, I continue, “It was a lapse in judgement, okay? I remember last semester more than anyone, but he’s just so powerful and I don’t seem to have any common sense around BTS.”

I take my hands away from their mouths and immediately Jenni asks, “Wait, what happened last semester?”

Luna slings an arm around my shoulder, “Come on, let’s go get pizza and a six-pack from Ralph’s. We can go out another night this week.”

“Take-out from Ralph’s?” Jenni’s eyes widen comically, “This must be major tea. Let’s go.”

Instinctively, we clink our beers together for the second time that night and chug the remainder of our bottles in true broke bitch fashion (never leave paid-for beer behind).

With that, we trek back through the door and out of the bar. We finish our night filling in Jenni with our less than savory experience with the infamous BTS fraternity last semester.

But, as I lay in bed for the night, I can’t help but wonder if Jungkook had looked for me that night after I left… Or if he told Taehyung...

taglist (message me to be added):

@catsandstrawberries @h5naaa

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flyingraijin · 2 years ago

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VARIOUS CHARACTERS X READER

Dynamic: Loss of virginity au

Rating: Explicit - 18+ Only!

Status: Ongoing

Current Word Count: 62 188

ALL CHARACTERS ARE 18 YEARS OR OLDER!

All entries exist in the same au but are standalone - entries do not need to be read in order, however it is recommended.

Related Links: main masterlist + ao3 + series playlist

Summary: When the time is right and you're finally ready to give your first to the person you love.

(Or, alternatively; the My Hero characters fuck for the first time)

CHAPTER INDEX

Entry 01 | Silver On Forest Green

Pairing: Izuku Midoriya x AFAB!reader

Warnings: Swearing, virginity loss, oral (m+f receiving), mentions of masturbation, creampie, multiple orgasms, soft Izuku, hella unrealistic (this is not what a first time is like at all)

Summary: After dating Izuku for a while, you and he both feel ready to take the next step in your relationship.

(Or, alternatively; Izuku fucks for the first time)

Word Count: 7360

Release Date: 20 September 2021

Entry 02 | Sweet (Like Honey)

Pairing: Katsuki Bakugou x fem!reader

Warnings: Swearing, virginity loss, fingering, dry humping, cunnilingus, creampie, multiple orgasms, no contraception mentioned, extremely unrealistic (seriously, this is not what losing your virginity is actually like)

Summary: When Katsuki finds out in the worst way possible that Deku is, in fact, not a virgin anymore, he takes matters into his own hands and decides to seek you out.

(Or, alternatively; Katsuki fucks for the first time)

Word Count: 10 377

Release Date: 11 October 2021

Entry 03 | Body As A Temple

Pairing: Hitoshi Shinsou x fem!reader

Warnings: Insecurity, lot’s of self-doubt, swearing, smut, virginity loss, body worship, praise, vaginal fingering, cunniligus, creampie, vaginal penetration, use of “kitten”, use of “muffin”, slight soft dom!Shinsou, established relationship, this is not realistic, (please, don’t take notes)

Summary: You can hear them when they whisper behind their hands. Always. And it hurts as the doubt starts to kick in. But maybe, just maybe Shinsou knows how to help.

(Or, alternatively; Hitoshi fucks for the first time)

Word Count: 11 683

Release Date: 18 December 2021

Entry 04 | Sickly Sweet

Pairing: Hanta Sero x fem!reader

Warnings: swearing, sickness, smut, virginity loss, multiple orgasms, oral (f + m receiving), a lil bit of dry humping, face-sitting, cunniligus, vaginal sex, a little bit of overstimulation, a teensy bit of pain, soooo fluffy (I really went overboard with this one bc im such a simp this man), pussy drunk sero, whiny sero

Summary: Being sick truly is an inconvenience, in almost every aspect of life. Especially so when you’re so close to graduation. But if your reward for getting well again is your boyfriend, Hanta, you suppose it might be worth falling ill more often…

(Or, alternatively; Hanta fucks for the first time)

Word Count: 15 606

Release Date: 22 January 2022

Entry 05 | Cookies ‘n Cream

Pairing: Shoto Todoroki x fem!reader

Warnings: forbidden romance, first time au, third year au, soft smut, swearing, hand jobs, vaginal fingering, unprotected sex

Summary: The rules have been clear for a long time; no messing around, no wasting time on anything that isn't trying to get to the top, and no Shoto Todoroki. At least, until school is over. Your parents have a lot of influence in the hero world, but once you've graduated, you're free from their control. And there's only one more night to wait.

Only, you've never been the most patient person. And after years of hiding your feelings and your need for him, he's right there now, in your room, close enough to touch.

(Or, alternatively; Shoto fucks for the first time)

Word Count: 12 440

Release Date: 09 July 2022

COMING SOON!

Entry 06 | One Man’s Treasure

Pairing: Eijirou Kirishima x reader

Warnings: TBA

Summary: TBA

Word Count: TBA

Release Date: TBA

Entry 07 | Inciting Incident

Pairing: Tamaki Amajiki x reader

Warnings: TBA

Summary: TBA

Word Count: TBA

Release Date: TBA

Entry 08 | Snowflakes

Pairing: Touya Todoroki x reader

Warnings: TBA

Summary: TBA

Word Count: TBA

Release Date: TBA

#💙 blue's fics #the virginity chronicles #izuku midoriya x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #hitoshi shinsou x reader smut #hanta sero x reader #shoto todoroki x reader

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theimprobabledreamersworld · 3 years ago

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A Time of Magic

Merlin AU

I got really excited about writing this after getting so many great ideas from people! So I spent most of today on it :) I will make it clear now; some parts will follow how it went in canon, some parts will be similar to how it went in the show and other things I will be deviating from completely <3

Taglist: I’ll do my 'general writing taglist for now' but if you would like to be tagged (or not tagged if you have been) then please let me know via dm, asks or comments/tags! 😊💜

@psychedelicships @jwillowwolf @lost-in-thought-20 @red-imeanblue @writerwithtoomanyships

Summary: “No one can know their destiny, no matter how grand that destiny might be. No one can truly comprehend how they wind up in the vast, complex tapestry of life. He cannot glimpse into the future of his great story. He will have to allow it to unwind for itself. Our young warlock must live to follow his destiny, and learn how to survive in a harsh world. His name… Virgil.”

Tags for this chapter: OC death, (not graphic in any way) description of execution, brief mention of a weapon, alternative universe (Merlin and human AU)

Word count: 2,818

Read on Ao3!

Chapter 1: Into the Realm of Camelot.

“No one can know their destiny, no matter how grand that destiny might be. No one can truly comprehend how they wind up in the vast, complex tapestry of life. He cannot glimpse into the future of his great story. He will have to allow it to unwind for itself. Our young warlock must live to follow his destiny, and learn how to survive in a harsh world. His name… Virgil.”

The young man scrambled up the sandy hill and laughed when the grass brushed under his legs. He looked behind him at the vast expanse he had left behind. The blue and grey hues of the Brighsonee Mountain that would usually loom above him every day now seemed significantly smaller, for the first time in his life, he could actually see the dusting of snow that covered the sharp peaks.

This was the beginning of a new start.

He looked into the distance and saw the last wooden house of village he had called home for the last twenty years. The feeling of sadness threatened to overwhelm him, but he couldn’t go back now even if he wanted to. Home was no longer safe, and he couldn’t put his mother through any more heartache. If he hadn’t been so reckless, he wouldn’t have been forced to leave his mother behind to fix his mistakes. He felt his eyes fill with tears at the thought, but he shook his head and violently wiped away the one tear that made its way down his face. There was no point looking back, he had to move forward.

“You must go to Camelot and find Logan. He will help you and protect you.” He listened to his mother’s words that echoed in his mind. He could feel the daunting pressure of the rising sun push him forward, with one final look at his past. He adjusted the bag on his back full of his meagre possessions and walked down the other side of the hill.

As he continued to walk for another two hours, he found himself in a wild forest. The path would come and go continuously, and he found himself fighting through trees while getting his dark brown jacket tangled in branches. He finally found the path again and stopped to remove a sharp stone that had somehow got in his shoe before freezing in awe at the sight in front of him. As he looked through another set of trees, he could see the walls of Camelot. It was clear to Virgil now why Camelot had been deemed the most powerful kingdom in the entire realm. He picked up the shoe that he dropped in surprise and put it back on his foot before moving swiftly along the path with a new-found burst of energy.

Virgil was so eager, but also anxious, to reach the town that he almost collided with a knight on his horse. The knight nodded politely as Virgil moved out of the way, his bright red cloak with the golden insignia of the dragon billowing behind him. At least Virgil could be reassured that he was definitely go the correct way. The sun began to beam brighter as the trees lessened. He could hear the hustle and bustle of the town somewhere in front of him, so he ran towards the noise. Virgil stopped just before the cobbled path of the town and took in the new surroundings, he was intimidated by how busy everything was. He knew it would be more chaotic than his miniscule village, but this was something else entirely. The main part to dominate his attention completely was the castle that towered over the town, just like the Brighsonee Mountain at his village.

A multitude of lean, square towers dominate the skyline of the castle and were connected by extremely tall, thin walls made of dark brown stone. Virgil was unable to count sheer volume of flags that fluttered in the breeze all around the castle. Small windows decorated are scattered generously across the walls in an asymmetric pattern, some decorated in stained glass, some left as they were to let the light in. He could also see symmetric crenelations for archers and artillery, that was a reassurance that Camelot was protected. Statues of kings were lined up outside of the castle gates, serving as reminders of the past. This castle had stood the test of time and despite knowing some very rough wars and battles, the castle still stood. It looked like it will do so for many years to come.

As he was accidentally pushed to the side by a townsman carrying goods on his back, he knew it was time to take the first step into his new home. He brushed off his torn purple shirt, then adjusted his classic red neckerchief before taking a deep breath and walking into the town. He smiled as he saw small children giggling and chasing each other through the crowded street. He watched as men and women wandered around the market stalls, Virgil couldn’t help but be fascinated by the food and jewellery stalls he passed. His stomach rumbled and it reminded him that he really needed to eat the food his mother packed for him, but that could wait. Right now, he really needed to find Logan. He caught a glimpse of the familiar red cape of a passing knight and followed him in the right direction of the castle entrance.

There were plenty of people walking in and out of the castle at a rapid pace, smiling as they went about their business and Virgil smiled back politely. As he walked over the drawbridge and caught a glimpse of the water in the moat, he had to admit to himself that he was pleasantly surprised. Part of him was expecting for the castle to be closed off and daunting considering how it looks from a distance, but the fact that it was so welcoming made him feel much more assured that he would be okay here after all.

He saw a significantly large group of people standing in the middle of the castle grounds and he excitedly raced over to see what had everybody so excited. They were standing around a square that had been cordoned off by rope, everybody was desperately trying to make sure they could see the spectacle. Virgil could just about make out a small stage with a block in the middle surrounded by a variety of weapons. There were guards to keep everyone from moving any closer and he saw one more man wearing a black mask over his face standing in the middle of the stage. Virgil was confused, why was there so much protection for a magic show? Before he could think about it any further, he jumped as two guards with bugles began to play a mournful fanfare. A man wearing a golden crown with a burgundy cloak stepped out onto the balcony high up in the castle, Virgil made a note that this must be a member of the royal family, most likely the King. It would explain the gold jewellery around his neck anyway. The serious expression on his face made Virgil tense up. He nodded and another set of guards played large drums at a slow marching pace while a townsman was dragged out into the courtyard wearing heavy chains. ‘This is going to be one intense show.’ Virgil thought.

As the man finally reached the stage with an incredibly morbid expression on his face, the crowd began to mutter excitedly before turning towards the balcony. Virgil followed suit as a loud, authoritative voice boomed out across the courtyard.

“Let this be a lesson to all who reside in Camelot. This man, Peter Robert Sclator has been judged as guilty.” There was a substantial pause, and Virgil took the opportunity to glance at the man before furrowing his brow.

‘Guilty?’ He looked around and saw people bowing their heads and nodding slowly, it started to dawn on him. Maybe this wasn’t a magic show after all. His heart began to fill with dread as the voice began to fill the courtyard once more.

“He is guilty of conspiracy. Conspiracy of using enchantments… and magic.” Virgil’s eyes widened with fear at the sheer distain in the King’s voice as he practically spat out the word magic. The way he gritted his teeth made every word much more sinister. Gasps filled the silence after his words reverberated around the walls. The man was desperately trying to make eye contact with people he must have known in the crowd, but everyone avoided his gaze. Virgil felt his heart beat rapidly, he wished he wasn’t so curious. He shouldn’t be standing here watching this, but if he left now, would he look guilty? If someone could be punished for conspiracy… what would happen to someone like him? He gulped as he trembled waiting for the next declaration to be made.

“In accordance with the laws of Camelot, I, Uther Pendragon, have decreed that these types of practices are banned… on penalty of death. I ensure that I am a fair and just ruler. For the crime of sorcery. This is the only sentence that will be passed.” The crowd were ushered into silence and Virgil had to grip tightly onto the handles of his bag so he didn’t gasp or draw attention to himself. Now the man bowed his head, completely resigned to his fate. Virgil didn’t understand, why didn’t he call out? Swear that he was only using his magic for good? He looked around as subtly as he could, and couldn’t believe that no one was standing up for this man, he must have friends… a family. He glanced up and saw one of the castle windows open slowly, someone looked out to the courtyard. Virgil couldn’t help but notice the overwhelming sadness on the young man’s face, almost pitying the situation as much as Virgil did.

As the man was dragged to the stage and pushed down to the block. It finally dawned on Virgil that this was real. This was how life was going to be in Camelot, and the thought petrified him. The drumbeat began to speed up and Uther slowly raised his hand into the air. He couldn’t watch so he focused on the ground, and winced when he heard the axe swoosh into the air before the inevitable groan of everyone who decided to watch the man’s fate. Virgil forced himself to look up and he saw the man in the window; the disgust, pity and rage on his face was palpable and his eyes looked like daggers aimed squarely at Uther’s head. Everyone slowly began to gather their things and walk away from the display, but Uther stopped the people in their tracks. Virgil was desperate to run, but again, the fear of looking guilty plagued his mind. Despite how disgusted he felt, he knew that he was compelled to stay.

“When I first arrived in Camelot. The kingdom was consumed with chaos. It was only thanks to the bravery of the people, that we were able to rise up and be free from the evil of magic. So I wish to declare a festival. Tomorrow marks twenty years since we captured the Great Dragon. Let us celebrate this joyous occasion.”

Virgil’s head began to spin as he saw the smug look on Uther’s face as he raised his arms above his head in pride. How could he look so proud after what he had just done? Magic was a source of good. There had been bad events though, there was no doubting that. If it was harnessed by a corrupted person, that was the only way magic could be evil… He didn’t understand why Uther refused to accept that. Virgil finally realised just how careful he was going to have to be, even though he didn’t even know how to control his abilities. He looked up and saw the window slam shut making the glass crack from side to side. He couldn’t say that he blamed that guy for his reaction. Virgil just hoped that he was okay.

He finally took a step and broke away from the shock of the last hour. He made his way to the far end of the courtyard searching for The Court Physician’s quarters. He needed to calm down, and he hoped that Logan would be able to reassure him like his mother promised. Virgil was still shaking but he swallowed his pride and asked one of the patrolling guards for directions. Despite hearing words coming out of the guard’s mouth, it didn’t process in his mind at all. So he nodded and walked in a direction, hoping it was the correct way.

After about five minutes, and two laps of the bottom of the castle. It was clear that he was lost because he hadn’t seen anything that looked like a space for the Court Physician. He sat in one of the gaps of the castle walls and let everything sink in. He must have ended up being there for a lot longer than anticipated because an older man with grey speckles in his hair looked at him with sympathy and knelt down to his level.

“Boy? Is everything alright? Are you lost?” The caring voice was enough to snap Virgil out of his overthinking mind. He looked into the deep blue eyes and immediately felt a sense of calm wash over him. He looked down and saw the large book on herbs that the man was holding close to his chest. Could this be…

“Logan?” Virgil asked hopefully, he was desperate for this day to end. The man’s eyes glimmered with agreement and he nodded in a calculated way. Virgil sighed deeply in relief, finally, this day might come to an end and he could start from scratch tomorrow.

“That is me, yes... Who are you?” The hint of uncertainty shone through in his voice and Virgil remembered the letter his mother wrote for him to give to Logan. He frantically opened his bag and searched desperately for the letter, he knew it was somewhere near the front, because his mother knew that he would lose it otherwise. He felt paper brush against his fingertips, and he pulled it out to hand to Logan. He was met with an apologetic smile, and he couldn’t tell what he had done wrong.

“I’m so sorry my boy, I’ve misplaced my glasses.” Virgil looked up and saw they were actually sitting delicately on Logan’s head, but he didn’t want to embarrass the man who would hopefully become like a guardian to him. So he smiled softly and began to introduce himself.

“I’m Virgil...?” The silence between them became almost uncomfortable until Logan beamed brightly as he seemed to recognise the name.

“Hunith’s son!” Virgil smiled back just as brightly. “You’re not supposed to be coming until Wednesday!” Virgil’s smile faltered as he worked out again how to say this in a delicate manner.

“Er, today… is Wednesday.” Logan went to say something but he stopped himself. He raised his eyes to the ceiling and calculated something on his fingers before sighing in realisation. He stood up and held a hand out to Virgil while pulling him out of his seat in the wall. They started walking together towards a set of stairs which led to Logan’s quarters. He had only just realised that it was quite late in the day now as the corridors were illuminated with burning torches. Logan stopped Virgil from coming in, and he could see him scrambling around lighting candles. When the rooms were sufficiently lit, he welcomed him in with open arms.

“Head to the bedroom at the back and put your things in there. I’ll get us some dinner while you get settled in.” He left swiftly and Virgil staggered to bedroom. He looked around and as he put his bag down on the floor, he already felt at home. He opened the window and saw just how high up they were in the castle. The flickering lights of the houses and the still open market stalls made him smile, it looked eerily beautiful. He closed the window and sat on the bed waiting for Logan to return, but his exhaustion got the better of him and he immediately fell asleep.

When Logan came back and didn’t hear any response to his calls of Virgil’s name, he was slightly concerned. He briskly walked to the bedroom and smiled softly when he saw Virgil fast asleep, so he left a piece of pie and a glass of water delicately on the table next to Virgil’s bed and blew out the candle before heading back into the main room.

The night was quiet except for a deep, intimidating voice calling out into the darkness.

“Virgil.”

#Merlin #BBC Merlin #Merlin AU #Human AU #sanders sides #ts virgil sanders #ts logan sanders #sanders sides fanfic #ts fanfic #magic #fantasy #tw oc death #tw execution #tw weapon mention #angst #comfort #more characters introduced soon #Dreamer writes

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banrionceallach · 4 years ago

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Reverse AU Crowley/Harry Omens Short

This will only make sense if you’ve read both my main fic and my scraps on AO3. Posting it anyway.

Raphael is still here.

He is still here and he keeps smiling at Aziraphale all the time.

Aziraphale keeps smiling back.

Crowley hates it.

He is not jealous, he tells himself, as he watches Raphael sit on a couch in the back of the bookshop. Raphael is currently pouring over an arcane text that Aziraphale thinks might solve the ‘angel from an alternate universe’ problem.

Crowley has known Aziraphale for six thousand years. He has argued and dined with and gotten drunk with the angel innumerable times. They’re best friends. Aziraphale walked into hell for him and sassed Michael into the bargain. He knows Aziraphale loves him. They are raising (another) child together, for Someone’s sake. Some alternate universe angel is not going to change that.

Even if he is basically a better version of Crowley.

Stupid angelic tosser. With his stupid round pupils and his stupid white wings and his stupid long braided hair that Aziraphale spent a whole minute complimenting after lunch.

( It is just possible that Crowley is trying to grow his hair out as quickly and discreetly as possible.)

Currently Crowley is alone with the Archangel Bloody Raphael, because the aforementioned child that Crowley and his angel are raising together had a sleepover with the former antichrist and Aziraphale has gone to Tadfield to pick him up and also consult the local witch on their Alternate Universe Angel problem. Normally picking up Harry from a friend’s house is something Crowley does in the Bentley, but today the knowledge that that would have left Aziraphale alone with Raphael for over an hour had made him strongly suggest that Aziraphale should go, and use the opportunity to consult the witch.

Crowley really hopes Book Girl has something. He doesn’t know how much more of the archangel’s presence he can take without jumping across the room and trying to claw his stupid perfect eyes out.

He notices the other red-head has put down his book and is looking at him with narrowed eyes.

“What are you looking at?” he demands.

Raphael shrugs innocently. “I was just surprised you didn’t go to Tadfield instead of Aziraphale.” He waves a hand at the piles of esoteric text cluttered around the room. “It would have been more efficient for you to bring Anathema here while we continued to research, wouldn’t it?”

“Leaving Aziraphale alone with you?” Crowley snaps, with rather more honesty than he prefers. “Not likely!”

Raphael arches a fine auburn eyebrow. “Are you always this possessive?” he asks and damn him, there is actual genuine concern in his tone. Who is he to be concerned about Aziraphale? He has his own version, yes? That he should be wanting to get back to? A tiny part of Crowley still doubts that. He can’t imagine a demon Aziraphale, can’t imagine Aziraphale Falling.

It hurts to think about.

“Possessive?” Crowley sputters, wrenching his mind away from the possibility of a horrified spiral into guilt. “I am not!”

And the thing is, he isn’t. Not usually. But of course, it occurs to him, it’s been rather easy to not be possessive when he can be safe in the knowledge that no one else on the planet has a hope of competing for Aziraphale’s affection. Not humans, not other demons, definitely not other angels.

Except now, there is another angel. An angel who never fell, still bathing in Her favour. With Crowley’s face. And, key point, without the more demonic attributes caused by the Fall.

He is polite and gentle and exudes a puppy-like bouncy enthusiasm and he keeps smiling at Aziraphale and Crowley hates everything about him.

“Really?”

“Really,” Crowley snaps back, baring his fangs. “I am concerned for his safety. For all I know, this could still be some trick by Above and Below to attack us. You could be in on it.”

“You really are very suspicious, aren’t you?” Raphael says, grinning like Crowley has just said something amusing.

“Demon,” Crowley snaps. “Goes with the job description. Suspicious, sly, evil demon.” He notes with satisfaction that his blunt reference to his status makes Raphael go pale and twitch slightly. Good.

“You’re not that demonic,” Raphael says softly after a moment, giving him a considering look. “I think Azirafell is worse. Better, I mean. At demoning.”

This is too much.

Crowley snarls and surges to his feet. “I,” he hisses, “am the Serpent in the Garden. The Fall of Man? Humanity exiled from Eden never to return? That was me. For six-thousand years I was Hell’s favourite demon. Don’t go thinking I am soft!”

Of course, it’s at this moment that Harry runs into the room, having just got back from Tadfield. “Dad! Dad! Is it true?”

Crowley draws his fangs back in so fast there’s an almost audible click. “Is what true?”

Harry is about to reply when he spots Raphael. Raphael stares at him, wide-eyed. Harry stares back, fascinated.

“Wow,” the nearly-thirteen-year-old breathes. “You really do look just like Dad! Weird!” Then Harry frowns. “Why don’t you have the cool eyes, though?”

Crowley flips from cursing Harry’s sense of timing to grinning widely. He and his angel have the Best Son. Objectively. It is fact.

Raphael makes a strangled noise. “Dad?” he manages to wheeze, still staring at Harry.

They had not mentioned Harry up until now as a precaution. Just in case Raphael was part of a plot against them. Watching Raphael almost choke in shock, Crowley is extra glad they’d not mentioned the young wizard.

He still has to squash the urge to snap ‘yes, this is our son’ in his most smug tone of voice. Crowley loves Harry and is not under any circumstances going to use him to score against the annoying stupid archangel who will be punted back to his own universe as soon as possible.

So instead he just waves, wiggling his fingers insouciantly at the Archangel. “That’s me.”

(It’s also Aziraphale, as well as James Potter, sadly deceased. People who start talking to Harry when he mentions his father soon learn to be alert for context clues.)

Raphael coughs, clearing his throat. “You’ve . . . adopted a child?” he says weakly.

“That’s right,” beams Aziraphale, who has just walked into the room behind Harry.

“Stole,” Crowley corrects. “We stole him. Evil, remember.”

“More like rescued,” says Harry, the little traitor. Raphael gives him a watery smile.

It turns out that (to Crowley’s great relief) Aziraphale has brought back a way to get Raphael home. Unfortunately, the ritual to do it takes hours to set up.

Raphael spends most of that time trying not to stare at Harry. He doesn’t really succeed.

Eventually, since they are now guaranteed to be archangel-free very soon, Crowley grudgingly explains how Harry came to be living with them.

Raphael is appalled.

“What do you mean, this headmaster knew and just left him with those people for ten years?” he hisses, his golden eyes narrow with outrage.

“He’d convinced himself that the blood ward was the only resort,” Aziraphale explains.

“Bullshit,” snaps Raphael and for a second Crowley almost likes him.

“Quite,” Aziraphale says. “We were less than happy with the state of affairs ourselves.”

“No kidding,” the archangel mutters. Right,” he says decisively. “Is that circle ready to get me home? I need to take a quick trip to Surrey. Just to check on something.”

It is possible, Crowley thinks, as Raphael steps into the circle and disappears in a flash, that the archangel will find that there is no alternate Harry. Or perhaps there’s no alternate Voldemort. Or Dumbledore. Who knows?

***

Harry Potter, aged almost thirteen, ran from Number 4 Privet Drive, his suitcase and his owl’s travelling cage thumping beside him. His could feel his heart jumping in his chest. He had never been so angry in his life. Why had he listened to Aunt Marge? Why hadn’t he done the smart thing and excused himself to the loo when she’d started to talk?

What was he going to do now?

A noise and sudden light, caught his attention. It was a car, approaching fast. When it reached Harry, it skidded to a stop. He backed away, fumbling for his wand.

Then the passenger’s window rolled down, and a man’s head emerged. “Hello,” the man said in a cheerful voice. “Harry, isn’t it?”

Harry gasped and backed away further.

“Look,” said the man, “I don’t normally get involved in these things, but my friend here” – he waved vaguely towards the driver, a man with long waves of red hair- “seems to think you need help.” The man squinted at Harry. “And from the looks of it, he’s right.”

An enraged roar, familiar to Harry, echoed out of the night.

Uncle Vernon, furious and getting closer.

“Alright,” said the driver, speaking for the first time, “that’s enough of that.”

Harry heard the sound of clicking fingers and suddenly found himself in the car’s back seat with Hedwig’s cage next to him. His seatbelt had already fastened itself. The big black dog, which he’d almost tripped over earlier, was sitting on the car floor and looking extremely puzzled.

“Really dear,” said the man in the passenger seat to the driver as the car sped off, Vernon Dursley’s furious shouts receding into the distance “Did you have to bring the dog too?”

“Yep. He’s a good dog.”

Harry swallowed and finally managed to speak. “People will come looking for me,” he said, trying to sound more confident than he felt.

The man in the passenger seat smiled at him. “Well I do hope so, my boy.” He nodded towards his friend. “Raf here is quite keen to give Albus Dumbledore a piece of his mind.”

#Good Omens #Harry Potter #Reverse Omens #Crossover crossover #because it makes me happy

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guigz1-coldwar · 3 years ago

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"Overlord: Cold War" : a new dark COD fic is out!

A fic inspired by the 2018 movie 'Overlord' with a part of the COD characters along with some OCs from the COD fandom.

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

1984, in an alternate universe where Adler's kidnapping never occurred.

In the middle of the war against Perseus, the West secret services discover a strategic position used by Perseus in a village near the capital of Verdansk, Kastovia that needs to be destroyed to gain a big advantage against Perseus. Russell Adler, the man tasked to bring that objective is asking to Zasha Smirnov, once known as 'Bell' to come with him on the mission despite the differences and things that happened between them.

But no one knows is that everything could be a lie and what they could see in Verdansk...could change a lot of things...

To read it on AO3, click here!

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3rd June 1984

Zasha Smirnov once know as 'Bell', MI6

Century House, London, United Kingdom

Looking through the windows of my office and the weather was basically resuming my mood today: heavy rain and even thunder on the horizon. It was something that has been happening for days and to say, almost weeks but this weather was not only reflecting about how I was now but how I was for years. Staying up to look outside wasn't going to help me so I decided to get myself back on my chair to work but...that mood was staying inside of me.

The first thing I saw when I sat up was the wide opened file about Yiri, the accident that we had together two years ago, and...the investigations from the MI6 about its circumstances. It was officially closed a few days after that incident because of a lack of evidence but me, I kept it opened, impossible for me to get over it what happened that day, it went fast, still feeling to this day the pain inside my chest when the doctor told me, her words still echoing inside my head.

My eyes were looking across the file until they went on her picture, the only picture that the MI6 was having of her: dressed in a KGB uniform in the first years she entered it with behind a dark grey wall, keeping a normal face for the photo and next to the picture, there was something I never wanted to hear and see before but now, it was the main thing that I was seeing when that file was opened: [Status: Deceased] in red.

It was at this moment that I put my hands to cover my ears as her voice was coming to echoes inside my head, that voice that I have been hearing each week since she wasn't here with me anymore. A knot in my chest was forming each time and it was torture to me, more than the CIA did to me.

"Zasha, save me," The voice said to me, sounding sad and pleading as my hands were trying to cover my ears, my fingers roaming on the sides of my head. "Zasha, don't let me down," The voice asked for me, making me close my eyes, perceiving a little scene, seeing myself in front of the car she was in when the accident, and running to save her.

"Yiri, please stop," I pleaded to the voice to stop it, my voice breaking down, and my hands starting to move away from my ears to join them on my face. "Just stop it!" I ordered to her but she was insisting, keeping to say the same things over & over again.

"Zasha," It continued to despite my pleas, hearing it louder than the others demands she was saying as I was slowly starting to break down in tears, my tears going to assemble inside my eyes before crying down but then...

"Zasha!" I almost jump scared from my chair when I heard in front of me, someone slamming their hands on my desk to get my attention, making my hands go away from my eyes to see who was the one who did this, "Zasha, are you here?" This was Grigoriev herself, sounding worried at me and feeling sorry to have to do this to get me back like that on her face.

"Yeah, I'm here, I think," I replied to her in a low voice, closing Yirina's file on my desk and pulling it aside but Grigoriev's eyes were on it.

"Seeing that file again & again isn't going to help you, you know that?" She told me in a clear voice, removing her hands from my desk as I was trying to lean comfy in my chair. "You need to stop torturing yourself with it," She advised me but no, I couldn't follow it.

"I can't forget her, it's impossible," I explained, both hands passing on my face, wanting to clean up any tears that came out in the case of it.

"It's been 2 years now, just stop doing this, people are worried," She reminded me of it but it was like almost every week of my life that she tried to tell me that, and I, unable to actually comply with her demand. "I know that's hard but please, stop," She demanded.

"I'll try," I muttered, biting a part of my lips by looking at her who rolled her eyes around.

"You said that last week," She mumbled before crossing her arms to walk away from the desk in the direction of the door. "Zasha, I did also had things I needed to get over and it was hard, I know that you will move over but I don't know that it will really happen," She commented, having her hands posed on the door handle.

"I don't know, I'll try my best," I exclaimed to her before putting my arms on the chair armrests. "Were you coming in to make me stop think about it or something else?" I asked her curiously, thinking that the first option was the obvious one.

"There's someone who wants to talk with you," She responded, turning her head around to look at me. "Goes by Adler, a guy wearing sunglasses and an orange leather jacket said that he was from the CIA," She revealed to me as my eyes went wide at this.

She was basically telling me that Russell Adler himself was maybe behind that door, wanting to talk to me. It was for 3 years that I didn't talk with him, not long after I killed Perseus himself when the CIA pulled out to let the MI6 deal alone with the Nova-6 threat in London, and now, he was here. I thought that I forgot him and him too after what he did to me but no if it wasn't enough for him to give me a bad day.

"Do I let him in?" Grigoriev asked me, her hands on the handle and waiting for my answer.

"Yes," I simply answered like that, not even taking a second to think about if I really wanted to talk to him and she nodded at me, a small grin on her face before she opened the door of my office, leaving it.

"You can come in," I heard her voice through the door, talking to him and after a few seconds of waiting, he appeared at my sight, slightly opening the door, dressed up in the same clothes he wore when he was welcoming me in West-Berlin.

"Wow, didn't know that you got your own office," This...this was the first thing he said to me when he was inside the room after checking it up with his eyes behind his sunglasses.

"Seriously?" I mumbled at him, looking at him with a deadly glare. "It's been 3 years and the first thing you said is talking about my office?" I demanded at him, sounding very serious in my voice, my left hand clenching on the rest. "If it's only for that, you can get the fuck off my office," I told him, pointing at the door.

"Kid, I ain't here for that," He gestured to me that he didn't mean it with his hands. "I came here to talk about things," He explained, his right hand pointing at one of the chairs in front of my desk and I nodded, letting him sit on it.

"What sort of things?" I asked him, not really sure that it was a good idea to have him here in front of me.

"How've you been since the last time we talked?" He demanded at me, getting his hands on his lap.

"You're not aware? Not so fucking great!" I responded to him, mixed between getting myself angry, my brain wanted me to jump over that desk and punch his teeth at everything he has done to me in the past. "I'm even worse than when you put your hands on me," I stated.

"That bad?" He raised an eyebrow, looking confused.

"Oh yeah, that's right that you completely forget things that happened," I said, wanting to make him remember one of the big things that occurred. "When Lazar got killed in Westminster to stop my own brother to unleash Nova-6, you didn't come at all at his funeral!" I reminded of that, tapping my fingers on the desk, that thing having been marked by a lot of people. "Mason, Woods, Sims & even Hudson attend his funeral with Park, me & Portnova, and you, you didn't come," I added

"I'm sorry, Zasha," He sniffed, looking away from me, trying to figure out if it was about shame or denial. "I couldn't attend it, okay?" He defended himself.

"Sure you do, sure you do," I stuttered, putting the palms of my hands against the desk.

"And what about your wife, Portnova?" He questioned me about it as he saw a framed picture of me and her on my desk, one of the few remaining that I've got from her that was taken a few days before the accident.

"She's dead," I snorted, passing my right hand below my nose. "A drunk driver ran into the car she was in, I saved her and rushed her to the nearest hospital but it was too late," I continued as he was looking a bit disturbed and sad to learn about it, the first time that I saw him like that, to be honest.

"Shit...I...I'm sorry, kid," He apologized again to me, scratching the back of his head as for a few seconds, the only sound inside the office was the rain tapping against the windows. "Uhm...how's Park, by the way?"

"I don't know, it's been almost 2 months that she disappeared, no one having found her," I replied to him. Park was asked for a mission by the MI6 but she didn't come back from it and now, half of the MI6 was looking for her in the Soviet Union. "It said that she was tasked to establish contacts with the resistance in Kastovia," I added as the former Soviet republic was now in a civil war with the Perseus forces who took control of its capital.

"What I thought," He whispered to himself, making me look at him.

"What YOU thought?" I repeated, raising an eyebrow.

"Listen, I didn't come for only talking about things but also because I need your help for a mission," He revealed to me, moving his hand inside his jacket to take out something of it, discovering a little file with a name on it. "I know that things happened between us but I need you," He insisted, putting the file on my desk to look at it.

"Overlord?" I saw the name of the file, seemingly the name of something that the CIA was going to do.

"We managed to find the main communications center that Perseus is using in Verdansk to help its forces to talk between each other, it's hidden in a church of a village around Verdansk," Adler explained to me as I was checking the file closely. "If we destroy it, we can deal a big blow to Perseus," He added.

"And why do you need me?" I demanded.

"Look at the last page," He ordered, causing me to go at the last page of the file...to discover a picture of Park herself...wearing a Perseus uniform and talking to another Perseus member as she was looking followed by the CIA. "We might believe that Park has changed sides and is helping Perseus," He told me, knowing well that my eyes were on that disturbing picture.

"That's...that's impossible, it can't be true," I protested to him, putting the file back on the desk. "She hates Perseus, she can't be with them," I added.

"I know but it's been 2 months that no one saw her and seeing her in that uniform is making us fear the worst," He claimed, putting his right hand on his forehead. "That's why I need you in that mission: we either had to capture Park...or to terminate her along with the communications center," He continued before he got up from his seat. "I'm asking you to come with me despite the things that happened between us, you're the only person in the MI6 that can manage to save her,"

"I'm not the only one that can save her but...." I stopped myself, my hands crossing on top of the file of 'Operation Overlord', impossible to think that Park could have switched sides like that and that I wasn't the only one in here to save her. "Okay, I'm in,"

"I forgot to say that the detail about Park's can't be revealed to anyone, it's staying between you & me, strict orders from Hudson," He instructed, taking out of his jacket a little pack of cigarettes and taking one from it and putting it between his lips. "No one needs to learn about Park," He lighted up his cigarette as I got up from my seat to get in front of my desk.

"And why that? I know that it's strict orders but why?" I asked him, moving to lean against my desk

"Are you sure that you want to have everyone knows that one of the best MI6 agents is working with Perseus?" He asked me back, turning his head around to look at me as he put his lighter back in his pocket. "I know that Park isn't liking me but her reputation cannot be damaged, that's why that objective of finding her is only between you & me," He affirmed that to me, and for a first, he was like sounding right in his words, not lying as Park got a good reputation in here, telling it could harm her.

"Fine, I'll keep my mouth shut," I complied with him on it.

"Good, I'm asking you to take with you someone that you can trust in the MI6," He ordered to me as he starts to walk at the door of my office to leave it. "I'm waiting for you at the airport in one hour, we need to leave London to get to Turkey the next morning," He said to me before he put his hands on the door handle, me staying on my desk as my eyes were on the file he gave me, seeing that name...Overlord...

"I'll make sure that we're going to do it,"

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

Yirina Grigoriev

I was silently crossing through some of my files on my desk, mostly talking about some MI6 operations against the Perseus Collective and enjoying a small cup of coffee in my hands when I heard the door of Zasha's office getting opened, seeing this Russell Adler coming out of their office, opening the door by himself as he was looking inside of it.

"I'll make sure that we're going to do it," The man said inside the office before he let his hands off the door handle, a cigarette between his lips, and then, starting to walk away from the room, not before actually exchanging a glare with me, looking rather suspicious and not the very nice guy type.

That man was very curious and strange as I remember how he presented himself to me and what he wanted to do and I was still having this impression when he turned his head around to look away back in front of him to leave the room as I moved my head to see Zasha coming out of the room and leaning against the door frame of his office, looking rather normal and trying to stay normal.

"Is...everything alright?" I asked them, putting my cup on the desk.

"Nope, not at all," They replied to me, showing to me in their hands, a file they were holding. "He wants me to come in Turkey to put myself back to the field," They revealed, moving away from the door to get next to my office, keeping the file in their hands. "The CIA is planning to destroy a Perseus communications center in Verdansk,"

"Right in the Kastovian Civil War? That's looking interesting," I proclaimed to that, my face looking now curious to know more.

"That's what I want to thought, he demanded that I bring someone with me," They said before they got their eyes on me. "Do you want to come with me?" They questioned me in a clear voice, and like that, I thought that it's been a long time that the MI6 didn't bring me to the field and that I was alone for weeks at my place.

"Yes, I...it's been some times that I'm alone, thinking that she will come back," I pointed out at one of the framed pictures on my desk, seeing her...Park. "Been 2 months that she disappeared like that as we got together like few weeks before she left," I added as she left me alone only after 2 months together.

"Maybe that you can try to get your thoughts away for the time been?" Zasha suggested to me, the first time that our roles were swapped, they as trying to make me change my mind. "As you said, people need to move on," They said, crossing their arms before looking away at the door that the man didn't close to leave the place. "I know that you got some run-ups with Perseus but are you willing to come with me to Verdansk?" They repeated to me, wanting to make sure that I was okay with actually joining them. "I'll tell you the main part of that if you come," They continued, now waiting for a response, and then, I got up from my seat, taking the jacket on my chair and offering my hand for a shaking...

"Count me in, Zasha!"

#cod bocw #cod cold war #cod black ops cold war #cod cw #call of duty cold war #cod #call of duty #cod bell #black ops cold war #zasha smirnov #nb!bell #yirina grigoriev #russell adler

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anubislover · 4 years ago

Text

A Tea Party for Baby 5

(Gift fic for @velvety-love for the OP Secret Santa 2020! I really hope you like the fic - it was a ton of fun to write!)

It was quite the sight, the infamous Donquixote Doflamingo sitting at a small table in a child-sized chair, his knees practically pressed into his chest, but he would maintain that for a man of his status, any seat was a throne. Before him was a decadent assortment of pastries, chocolate-covered fruit, finger sandwiches, and quiches. Baby 5 had recently begun training to be the family’s maid, and this tea party would be a useful way to hone her serving skills. Since the eight year old girl was still too short to reach the dinner table, this was a perfectly reasonable alternative.

And yes, the dolls and stuffed animals sat up in their own chairs with cups and saucers was also absolutely necessary. She needed to learn to serve multiple people, after all.

“More tea, Young Master?” Baby 5 asked, hefting up the large china teapot, a hopeful smile on her face. There was a bit of tension around her mouth, though; visible strain from the weight of the pot that she desperately sought to hide for fear of disappointing him.

Doflamingo grinned, holding out his pink floral-patterned cup. “Yes, please.” The child had insisted on being useful to him, and while his main interest was in the deadly Devil Fruit powers she possessed, it was nice having some proper servants around.

However, her little arms trembled, the pot far too heavy for her, resulting in her inadvertently missing the cup and instead spilling hot tea onto his hand.

“Gah!”

“Oh no! Young Master, I’m so sorry! Let me get you a towel, or some ice!” she cried, nearly dropping the teapot in her panic. Luckily, Doflamingo was able to grab it before it could fall and set it on the table, preventing tea from splattering everywhere and staining his suit pants.

For a moment, his hand clenched and he glared down at her through the lenses of his fierce red sunglasses. The former Celestial Dragon wanted to be upset. She’d burned him! How dare she—

But then he looked at her distraught little face, eyes already wet with tears, and he was suddenly reminded of his precious little brother when they were children and how hard he’d tried to please him…

Picking up a napkin, Doflamingo wiped his hand clean of the tea. Honestly, it hadn’t hurt. Barely anything to someone like him. And she was trying. Really, it was impressive she could even lift the pot, considering it was nearly as big as she was and how thin her arms were. They really needed to get some meat on her bones—she wasn’t the half-starved waif who’d come to him in desperation anymore. She was part of his family. It was his job to take care of her.

Coming to a decision, Doflamingo removed a stuffed dog from the chair at his right and patted the seat. “No worries, Baby 5. Come here and I’ll pour the tea.”

“Ah! But Young Master, I—”

He gave her a reassuring smile, one as gentle as he could manage. “It’s fine, Baby 5; proper tea party etiquette says that the host should serve.”

“But then, you don’t need me,” she said sadly, small body slumping miserably.

Inwardly he grimaced. The last thing he wanted was for her to cry. So, he grinned more widely and picked her up by the back of the dress, plopping her down into the chair. “Sure I do! I need you to be a good guest! I can’t work on my hosting skills if I don’t have guests. These guys,” he said, indicating the dolls and toys, “are terrible conversationalists.”

Baby 5 visibly perked up, thrilled at still being needed in some capacity. “Oh! That’s true. Then I’ll be the perfect guest for you! I’ll be anything you need, Young Master.”

A small sigh of relief escaped his chest. Crisis averted. She was happy, and while serving himself was not ideal in most circumstances, the child could learn by example and he wouldn’t have to worry about his suit.

Getting an idea, he attached his strings to one of the dolls sat around the table, making it lift the teacup so he could pour. “Watch carefully; it’s important to hold the pot from both the handle and the spout to avoid spilling. We don’t want even a drop on the nice white tablecloth, do we?”

“No, we don’t,” she agreed, studying his technique carefully. Her dark eyes took in his every movement with near-reverence, her own little hands even miming him to ensure she would get it right later.

Satisfied, he filled Baby 5’s cup and offered her a blueberry scone. “Here, eat up—you’re a growing girl, and someone who works as hard as you deserves a treat.”

“Really?” she asked, even though she was already practically drooling as the smell of the pastries she’d baked that morning wafted up her nose.

“Really. Now have a scone, then some sandwiches, and then you can help yourself to the tarts and cupcakes.”

Practically glowing with happiness, she snatched one off the plate, but froze before she could shove it into her mouth. “Oh. Sorry,” she said, setting it on her plate and picking up her knife and fork.

Doflamingo shook his head. “Nah, you were right the first time. Eat the scone with your hands. Save the fork for the quiche.”

Thrilled that she was getting to sit at the Young Master’s side and enjoy the goodies she’d baked and laid out to his specifications, she tucked in, smile so wide her cheeks ached.

It was…kind of cute, seeing her so happy. Just a child eager to belong. Sure, she would make a fantastic assassin, but there was no reason not to let her have little moments like this, right? The chance to just be a kid and have fun? His father’s foolishness had denied him that joy after they’d left Mariejois, but he was far better than Homing.

He was the patriarch of the Doflamingo Family; it was his job to keep everybody happy. To give them all they could ever ask for so that they would do the same for him.

Looking her over, he wondered what else he could do. Her bow and dress were looking a little worn. He’d order replacements. Simple ones for everyday wear, but he was sure he could get her something cute and fancy as a reward the next time she got back from a mission. Dress her up like a doll and show her off. New shoes would be a must, too – he and his brother had constantly been outgrowing theirs, and while he doubted she’d every reach his exalted stature, she certainly would grow up to be a lovely young woman.

And lovely young women attract boys, he thought, scowling for a moment behind his teacup. Gonna have to watch her like a hawk once that happens. Can’t have anyone thinking they’re good enough for Baby 5 and trying to steal her away. I’ll make sure she’s got no reason to leave the Family. Who could provide for her like me, anyway?

On a whim, he got another idea – something that would surely amuse and delight her. Holding out his hands, he attached his strings to a pair of dolls. Like a puppet master with a pair of marionettes, he made them waltz around the table, chuckling while Baby 5 applauded and laughed with joy.

“Figured the least they could do was put on a show for us as thanks for our hospitality,” he explained, making a few more join in so it almost resembled a ball. “Too bad we can’t bring the toys to life—then they could dance without the strings.”

“Maybe there’s a Devil Fruit out there that can do that,” Baby 5 said excitedly, eager to help in any way she could.

“Hmmm, maybe there is. I’ll have to look into it,” Doflamingo agreed, rubbing his chin. The hand fell to pat her on the head. “What a clever girl you are.”

As she beamed up at him, there was a knock at the door, and without delay Corazon strolled in carrying Buffalo and Law by the back of their shirts like a pair of squirming kittens. Law even seemed to growl at his manhandling. Clearly, they’d been caught by his right-hand man doing something they shouldn’t, at least if the way he ground the cigarette between his teeth was anything to go by. However, all three of them froze at the sight of their leader serving tea to his maid-in-training surrounded by a bunch of dancing stuffed animals.

“What the he—” Law started, staring in utter bafflement.

“Ah, just in time! Baby 5 and I were having a tea party! Sit down and join us!” Doflamingo exclaimed cheerfully, indicating the newly-empty seats.

“Yes! Please, join us!” she chimed in eagerly. Even though they could be rude and mean, she considered the two boys her closest friends, so of course she wanted to have them involved. Corazon, too, even though he was grouchy and clumsy and might make the tablecloth catch fire.

Corazon looked between the tiny chairs and the uncomfortable-looking way his brother was sitting, then raised a disbelieving eyebrow.

“Oh, come on, little brother! It’s perfectly comfortable,” he said, even though he could already feel his legs cramping up. Ah well. At least he wouldn’t suffer alone, and Baby 5 could have some time enjoying herself with friends. She needed more socialization. Maybe he should call up Vinsmoke Judge – he had a daughter about her age, didn’t he? Maybe they could set up a play date.

“I’m not taking part in some stupid tea party,” Law groused, glaring at the utter ridiculousness around him.

“Kid, you can either sit down under your own power or I can tie you to the seat,” Doflamingo warned with smile. He turned to the child beside him. “But thank you for providing Baby 5 with another valuable lesson – boys are obnoxiously stubborn.”

“Law, c’mon, let’s play along-dasuyan,” Buffalo not-so-quietly whispered, eyeing the tray of cupcakes.

“Fuffuffuffuffu! But they’re easily bribed with food,” he added, smirking when she giggled. Pleased with himself, Doflamingo gave the three new guests a terrifying smile. “Now, you gonna join us like proper gentlemen, or am I going to have to show you to your seats?” he asked, raising his hand meaningfully.

A shiver ran down their backs and neither Law nor Buffalo argued as Corazon plopped them both in a chair before gingerly taking the spot opposite his brother, grimacing at how sore his legs and back would be after this.

Pleased that her friends were in fact joining the party, Baby 5 instinctively rose to her feet to serve them. A large hand on her shoulder stopped her, though, causing her to look up at Doflamingo inquisitively.

The patriarch smiled down at her, sincerity in his tone. “Now now, I told you the host should serve. The hostess who made all the preparations needs to take a load off and enjoy herself. Let us take care of you for once,” he said, pinching her cheek.

Yes, he’d take care of her, she’d take care of them, and they’d all live together as a big, happy family. What more could anyone want?

@op-secret-santa-2020

#op-secret-santa-2020 #One Piece Fanfiction #baby 5 #donquixote doflamingo #doflamingo family #donquixote rocinante #donquixote corazon #trafalgar law #trafalgar D. Water Law #buffalo #tea parties #tea party #tooth-rotting fluff

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melissachan · 4 years ago

Text

Un(reality) for two

AO3 link

Summary:

All Nagito Komaeda really wanted was to be understood. Hajime Hinata tried to grant this wish.

…or Danganronpa 2, but Hajime is 20% less tsundere 20% more smart and 100% more cool.

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Category:M/M

Fandoms: Super Dangan Ronpa 2, Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types

Relationship: Hinata Hajime/Komaeda Nagito

Characters: Komaeda Nagito, Hinata Hajime

Main Tags: Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Bonding, Eventual Romance, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Complicated Relationships

TWs: self-harm, suicide and suicidal ideations, threats of violence, canon-typical violence, canon-typical Komaeda

Language: English

Wordcount: 14173

Status: Completed

Chapter 1: Destination Hope

“Hey.”

Hajime’s voice was very sudden, enough to make Nagito flinch a little. The beach was peaceful, the sound of the waves coming up and down was calming, and nobody usually came here – a perfect place for a trash like him to sit without bothering anyone. The soft sand probably made Hajime’s steps too quiet for him to notice. Not that Nagito minded it too much – if some of the others just came from behind and put a rope against his neck, or hit him with something heavy, or plunged a knife into his back, it would have been fine, but he’d still rather prefer them to consult him first.

“Ah, Hajime. Hello there,” he answered, waving his hand, his smile cheerful as always. Hajime’s expression was bleak. It didn’t seem like he slept much, and it made Nagito wonder what was keeping him awake. He had no idea what was such a big deal, but something on the back of his mind told him that it probably was his very own behavior, and this evoked a weak pang of guilt… It didn’t matter, though. It all was necessary for Hajime’s hope to shine brighter, someday he will understand. “What are you doing here? You don’t seem like a person who likes to take random beach walks, and I got a feeling it’s not that pleasant for you to see my face either,” he said, looking at Hajime curiously, his smile staying the same as the other boy came closer.

“There is something… that keeps bothering me since… since the last trial,” Hajime answered, looking unsure, trying to avoid eye contact. His voice was tense, even more tense than when it was there in the trial room, that damned day when Byakuya Togami’s and Teruteru Hanamura’s portraits became crossed out forever. Nagito was ready to join them, as ready as ever; he was always eager to become the last in the list of his many, many victims… But Hajime didn’t seem to be here to take up his offer, so he tilted his head questioningly.

“Aw, what a shame, I almost thought you came to discuss your brilliant murder plan with me,” Nagito sighed, making Hajime’s face go red as he furrowed his eyebrows and pursed his lips. No wonder he’s so angry, Nagito thought. It was way, way too arrogant of him to think someone with such a bright hope inside him would need any help from a useless, incompetent idiot like himself. “So, what is it?” he asked, smiling all the same.

“Just… just what the hell were you trying to do there in the dining hall?” Hajime suddenly blurted out, probably a bit louder than he intended. Accompanying his words, he kicked the sand underneath his foot, making countless grains go up and land on his shoes and clothes, picked up by the soft, warm tropical wind, too calm, too peaceful for this cursed island.

“Huh? Didn’t you figure it all out in the trial? I was going to stab someone with that knife, but alas, Teruteru and Byakuya stopped me,” Nagito answered, shrugging, continuing to smile friendlily, but it seemed to make every muscle on Hajime’s face go even more tense.

“So you were going to stab someone. With the glowing knife. In the complete darkness,” he spoke after a short pause, seeming to take a bit of time to calm down.

“Yes, exactly! Amazing, Hajime. Is your real talent the Ultimate Analyst?” Nagito exclaimed cheerfully, attempting to sound natural. He tried to think of something reasonable to say, but every option seemed to make the truth even more clear so he just smiled, hoping Hajime would drop it.

“You were trying to get yourself killed,” Hajime spoke, now sounding calm, almost… cold. The confidence in his voice, the one that made it clear he was stating it, not asking, made every bit of Nagito’s hope to avoid this talk shatter at once. Hajime now was looking into his eyes, with a weird mix of anger and… guilt? “Your weird behavior as you were on the cleaning duty. Telling Teruteru your plan. Mentioning the floorboards, planting the glowing paint, it was all a part of it,” he continued, clenching his fist – and his every word felt like a punch, piercing a piece of armor. “Am I right?” anger returned in his intonation, making Nagito take a step back.

“And what if… you are right?” he asked, looking at the sand underneath him. Hajime came closer and stood by, putting his hands on Nagito’s shoulders. He shook him, gently, but enough to make him lift his head up. Every trace of anger disappeared – now he looked like he was about to burst into tears.

“Why?” Hajime asked quietly, clenching his shoulders tightly, almost painfully. For some reason, it felt weirdly comforting – another human nearby, slightly warm, breathing, so close…

“I… I thought I explained it all already,” Nagito answered, still keeping up his cheerfulness, as if it was enough to wash away all the worries, to rebuild the lost defense. “From all of you guys, from all the shining symbols of hope… My life is the least valuable. The world needs you, and this is why I am willing to die if it means someone, anyone, leaves this damned place,” he explained, his smile going wider, his tone becoming too weird and too forceful and too sinister – he knew he should stop it, he knew everyone hated it, but he couldn’t do anything about it anymore, now absorbed into his own words. “Nobody would care if I’m gone. Nobody would miss me, or mourn me. There is no way for me to have any value except for being your stepping stone” – he spread his hands widely, making Hajime take a step back.

“Why?” the other boy asked, very quietly, and for some reason it made Nagito stop, now looking at him in confusion. “Why would you say such a thing?” Hajime yelled at him, indecisive to come closer again, tears in the corner of his eyes.

“Huh? Am I wrong?” he asked, trying to ignore the waves of guilt spreading through his mind. Not only was he useless trash, a person with a fake talent, Hope’s Peak Academy’s mistake… but now they all also hated him… right?

“Yes you are!” – the answer was clear, clear enough to make Nagito flinch. “I… I would’ve been sad” – it seemed like Hajime was trying not to yell, but his efforts didn’t do much good. Nagito gulped, the feeling of uneasiness becoming too hard to ignore. “You… Well, honestly, you’re a weirdo!” – he looked like a puppy robbed of a treat. “But… the kind boy who was with me when I was feeling scared and confused… The one who made me feel calm and peaceful… The one who wanted to investigate the island with me, it was also you, right?!” – Hajime stared at him, as if looking for an answer, but Nagito couldn’t find the words.

“I’m not sure… Was that person even real? Or is this person before me real? I just want to understand!” – Hajime was now crying, not even bothering to try to hide it. “And if you died, I would never know… No, that’s not it…even without this… I don’t want you, or anyone else, to die,” he finished, now breathing heavily from talking too much, his cheeks red from both tears and anger. Nagito still couldn’t find any words, or any right way to react, as if the whirlwind of emotions in his head stole his very voice…

And for some reason, at the very back of his mind, behind all the guilt, there was a wrong, sickening feeling of happiness.

“I give up. Going to my cottage now… Feel free to come if you ever want to explain yourself,” Hajime spoke after a long pause, now seeming to calm down. His breathing was still heavy, and despite the soft, warm tropical sun, the look on his face made Nagito feel cold. Not waiting for the answer, he turned back, and began to walk away slowly.

“But those kinds of talks… are exactly why I didn’t want anyone to figure out,” Nagito said quietly, sounding a bit colder than he intended. Hajime turned his head to him. For a short moment he looked like he was about to return and… do something. Start another talk, perhaps. Slap him, probably. But he didn’t, and very soon his silhouette fuzzed and disappeared in the distance.

Chapter 2: Sea and Punishment, Sin and Mahiru's Tasty Toast That Finally Gets Eaten

Lying on the floor without motion for so long was not the most pleasant feeling.

Nagito tried to move, to wriggle with his whole body, to change his position even for a bit. Not to free himself – he knew it was useless, and if not one, but two of the shiny, worthy Ultimates decided he’d be better off that way, who is he to argue – but to make his arms and legs feel a little less numb. Of course, he would deal with bruises and abrasions with no problems, but if it got too bad, he would become even more useless than he was now, tied up and unable to help anyone even a little, and he didn’t want such a perfectly fine stepping stone go to waste.

His stomach ached, reminding him he hadn’t eaten for… how long? Nagito had absolutely no idea, since the metal plates on the windows stopped him from seeing the daylight, but judging from the amount of sleep he got, it was about two or three days. In any case, he really, really regretted not trying any of the food Teruteru made – it all looked so good that even remembering it made his stomach growl even more pitifully.

He almost thought he shouldn’t have told Mahiru to go away and make him a better breakfast either. Almost. The hunger was unbearable, and actually seeing and smelling that hot pot of freshly cooked rice made him want to cry, but the thought of letting someone like her, a person with such a strong personality and such an ability to make everyone smile, touch his ugly, disgusting mouth was worse.

The door opened, making Nagito lift up his head a bit. He smiled – no matter how much discomfort he experienced, he shouldn’t make anyone worry about him. To his surprise, the person who came in wasn’t Mahiru Koizumi this time. It was… Hajime Hinata, holding a plate with toast and a glass of milk, along with two small packages of butter and honey. It was such simple food, but even looking at it made him want to drool. He couldn’t let that happen though, so instead he decided to greet his guest, distracting himself a bit.

“Oh, Hajime! Hello there!” he exclaimed, his voice sounding perhaps a bit too cheerful, but the other boy didn’t seem to notice, looking at him with the same annoyed expression as always. “Sorry for making someone as great as you look at something so pathetic and unworthy of your attention. Seems like Mahiru sent you to feed me, what great luck I have today,” he continued after understanding Hajime wasn’t going to answer. He sighed, coming closer to Nagito, the plate still in his hands.

“Oh, I’m so sorry for making an embodiment of hope do such a thing, dirtying their wonderful hands made for spreading hope by touching someone like me, but it seems necessary so those who left me here won’t get executed,” he said, talking a bit faster than he wanted to, as his eyes latched onto the toast. Food, he just wanted to finally get some food, just a natural need of the human body. The sudden easiness he felt definitely had nothing to do with the fact that of being touched by Hajime didn’t seem that bad at all…

“Or maybe you played that game Mahiru told me about and now came to kill me?” Nagito asked, making Hajime groan. “See, I wouldn’t mind it at all! I’d say I wouldn’t mind just dropping dead at any second, but dying such a meaningless death when there’s so many wonderful opportunities to strengthen everyone’s hope would’ve been a bit sad, so I thi–” – Hajime leaned down and put the plate on the floor with enough force to make the milk splatter, Nagito’s words drowning in the loud clang that followed.

“Seriously, what the heck is wrong with you? Cut it out!” Hajime said, the anger clear in his tone. “I’m just going to finish this quickly and go do something more useful, I got no time for listening to that nonsense,” he sighed. To Nagito’s surprise, he didn’t reach for the toast or the milk, leaning over him instead. The next second he felt how the rope fell off, freeing his legs.

“What are you doing?” he asked, confused, as Hajime continued to untie his arms. A feeling of relaxation suddenly spread through his body as it was no longer restrained, making him turn on his side, taking a more comfortable position.

“Freeing you, of course,” Hajime said with the same hint of annoyance in his voice. “And don’t get me wrong, I won’t let you actually roam freely. I just asked Monomi to give me the key to this room, so I’ll just lock you up,” he added as Nagito crawled to the wall, now taking a sitting position. His whole body ached and it was difficult to move, but the comfort it brought made him forget about the hunger, at least until his eyes latched onto the toast again.

“I mean, I can feed you, but like… You need to move, right? Bedsores and atrophied muscles are not the funnest things to deal with,” Hajime said, almost like he was trying to convince himself it was a good idea. “Besides, keeping you like this is just… unnecessarily cruel” – Nagito couldn’t answer, now stuffing the toast into his mouth with greed he wasn’t expecting of himself. “I also figured that you’d get bored, so I brought… this” – Hajime held out his hand, giving him a small colorful device with a set of buttons at each side. “That’s a video game console. I got like half a dozen of those from the MonoMono Yachine,” he explained, looking a bit awkward.

“Wow! Not only coming here to feed someone like me, but actually being worried about the well-being of someone so lowly and worthless? You’re not only the Ultimate Serenity, you’re also the Ultimate Compassion!” Nagito exclaimed, making Hajime groan again. He looked at the device, feeling… weird. He knew he didn’t deserve it, he knew he made Hajime waste the time and effort instead of doing something useful, or fun, or hopeful, but god, why did it feel so good? “Videogames are fun, although I prefer to spend my time reading books,” he suddenly said, trying to distract himself.

“Books? What kind of books?” Hajime asked, looking at him seriously. Nagito took the second piece of toast, putting the butter and honey on it.

“I love murder mystery books the most. Although I read a bit of nonfiction and science literature as well,” he answered, not putting much thought into it. Actually holding the food in his hands made the hunger stronger, and he didn’t know it was even possible…

“Wait there, I’ll get you some,” Hajime said, getting up. Hearing that almost made Nagito choke on the toast out of surprise as he watched the other boy stand up and head to the door. No, you shouldn’t, you wasted way more time and energy and kindness on me than I will ever deserve today, he wanted to say, but Hajime already closed the door, locking it from the other side with a quiet soft clang…

Nagito waited, looking at the door. Hajime was taking longer than he expected. He turned on the console and tried to find something like a clock, or a calendar at least, but he there wasn’t anything like this in that weird device. Hajime probably decided to just leave him, he suspected, and that’s probably for the best – no, really, that was more of a comforting thought than an unpleasant one. He got up and walked around a bit, more to give his stiff and numb muscles some work than anything, when he heard the door opening again.

“Hello again, Hajime!” he spoke, as the other boy came in, looking like he was out of breath. He really was holding a couple of books and some piece of a heavy-looking cloth this time, making Nagito feel a pang of guilt again. Just, what drove him to do all of this? Was it the same thing that made people suddenly give him sad looks when they hear about his absolutely normal and logical desire to trade his worthless life for something more valuable, something that could bring the slightest ray of hope to the world?

“Hello… Can’t promise they’re any good, but these are all I could find in the library,” Hajime said, putting the books on the floor. Nagito wanted to thank him… but every word in his head seemed either not enough or too overdramatic. “So, you like murder mysteries?” Hajime suddenly asked, as if he wanted to end the awkward pause between them.

“Yes,” Nagito answered unsurely. “What about it?” – he made several steps back and sat down, leaning against the wall in the most comfortable position he could get in this empty room.

“Why is that?” Hajime asked, looking at him a bit more intently than Nagito expected.

“I like everything that makes you think, I suppose,” he answered unconfidently. “I also like the… unique relationships between the author and the reader they create. The balance between deceiving them and at the same time giving them a chance to figure everything out,” he added, putting his finger on his chin. “In a novel I read recently, the murderer creates different scenarios specifically to give the main character a chance to understand not only “whodunit” and “howdunit”, but also their motive… and them as a person. And I feel like… this is what the author of the mystery should do, even if their character doesn’t want this in-universe,” he spoke, now noticing that Hajime was staring at him thoughtfully, listening to every word with a surprising amount of attention.

“I once read a story where the mystery was about if a human did it, or an ancient god’s curse… And by the end it turned out that the ancient god did exist, but it was a nice sweet girl who begged people to stop as they slaughtered each other in her name. Was pretty cool,” Nagito continued to talk. Hajime frowned slightly… damn, he must’ve said something weird or stupid again.

“So you can talk like a normal person when you want to,” Hajime stated with a quiet sigh. Nagito felt his face turn hot and red. “Sorry, I was never a fan of this genre, so I don’t have that much to answer,” he added, scratching the back of his head.

“Huh? I wouldn’t think that, given how easily you solved ours with Teruteru’s mystery,” Nagito said, looking up at Hajime. For some reason, it made the anger return to his eyes. “Oh, I’m sorry. I know a smart, hopeful and talented person like you doesn’t need to know every trick in the book to solve the mystery,” he added, attempting to fix his mistake, but it made Hajime’s face look even more displeased.

“That’s not it!” he said, waving his hand angrily. “Just… don’t compare it to that. You know, Nagito, people actually died for it. It’s not some kind of… an entertaining story” – Hajime looked at the floor, his tone becoming less furious and more sad with each word.

“I… I see…” Nagito answered, fighting with the desire to make Hajime finally understand that their sacrifice was definitely worthy, and meaningful, and not a sad thing at all… But something at the back of his mind told him that it was the wrong time and place for it.

“Glad you understand,” Hajime said, his face softening a bit. “I’d be happy to read those stories we were talking about… when we get out of here,” he added, looking weirdly determined.

Hajime wanted to… leave this place? With him? With them both being alive? No, it was too good of a thought. He just meant this in general, Nagito was sure.

“Anyway, now I think I need to go. Everyone’s probably worried about me already,” Hajime spoke. “Oh, before I forget, take this too” – he put the piece of cloth he was holding the whole time on the floor. “It’s a blanket… It was just lying there in the library so it doesn’t seem like anyone needs it. Figured that sleeping on the floor wouldn’t be the most comfortable experience…” – Hajime paused, suddenly looking straight into Nagito’s eyes. “Moreover, you look like you’re cold… Always cold,” he added thoughtfully, and for some reason it made Nagito gulp.

“Before I go, need anything else?” Hajime asked, heading to the door.

“Some more food… please,” Nagito answered, accompanied by his stomach growling loudly again. Hajime smiled with a nod, and left.

Chapter 3: Set Free by the Ocean Scent

Nagito’s mind was reeling, his ears were ringing and his eyes fluttered around the room nervously as he sat on the hospital bed, with Hajime standing nearby, looking at him with an expression of a clear, unfiltered concern. He must not lie. He must not lie. He must not say stupid bullshit. He must just control his body, and his mouth and tongue were just other parts of it. Collect your thoughts, then say what you think. It was that simple.

“Leave me alone. I hate you. I can’t stand seeing your stupid face anymore.”

The words left without his permission, and all he wanted now was to grab his head and shake it with all his strength, or to smash it against the wall, or to drop his body against the floor with all his might so he would break his jaw and stop speaking forever… But his limbs weren’t moving, and all he could do was look at Hajime with a silly smile, drooling slightly as the other boy sighed, staring at him, a hint of curiosity suddenly making its way into his expressions.

“What are you waiting for? Do you want me to vomit from seeing your stupid face? I bet you’re actually not even a symbol of hope; you’re a worthless, talentless piece of trash. Erase yourself from this world and replace that pathetic loser you are with someone better,” – more words escaped from Nagito, and he wanted to put his hand on his lips, to take the bedsheet and stuff it into his throat, to take a bottle of acid and drink it so nothing would leave his dirty, disgusting mouth ever again, but all he could do instead was look into Hajime’s eyes. For a split second he seemed… hurt, really hurt, even more than he was in that trial, when he learned about Nagito’s role in it, and it made him want to rip off his own tongue with his bare hands. But it lasted just a split second, before Hajime suddenly smiled at him warmly.

“Wow, you want me to stay that badly? Not that I have nothing better to do… But if you’re begging like this, then I think I have no choice,” he sighed, coming closer, sitting down on the bed nearby. Feeling his presence that close made Nagito’s head spin. It was too near. Too personal. Almost about to touch him. Almost like he could give in and put his head on Hajime’s shoulder, and fall asleep peacefully… Feeling his coarse, spiky hair tickle his ear lightly… It was pleasant… Why was it so pleasant?

The thoughts consumed him, and he noticed it too late when his body began to fall down. He tried to direct it to the side, so he lands on the pillow and not on the floor, or, even worse, on Hajime, but…

“Hey, be careful. You’re very weak and we don’t want to give Mikan more trouble,” Hajime said, smiling, lightly holding Nagito’s shoulders, keeping him sitting upright. His hands were warm and soft, and feeling them suddenly made Nagito’s mind calm and peaceful, almost ready to fall asleep. “So try to not fall and bruise yourself, okay?” Hajime said, his tone slightly worried, as he pulled Nagito a bit closer to himself.

“Don’t touch me with your disgusting hands, you filthy, unworthy idiot. Every second I feel them on me feels like a torture. If I spend one more minute in your presence, I swear, it would make me lose my will to live, and your voice will haunt me in my nightmares,” Nagito blurted out, suddenly even for himself, his body feeling numb, every muscle going weak and limp. It was hard to breathe, and for the first time since he arrived on Jabberwock Island, he felt hot, overheated, almost as if his body was burning. His body began to shake weakly. He will die here, right? This is the place where his pathetic life ends… And the last thing Hajime hears from him will be those awful, bitter words.

This thought suddenly made him want to cry, but his face didn’t reflect this feeling either, instead making his dumb disgusting smile grow bigger.

“So it means… My touches made you regain your will to live and my voice comes to you in your sweet dreams?” Hajime asked, half-flattered, half surprised. Nagito’s face got hot, and it wasn’t from his body temperature rising up this time. “If so… I think I don’t mind being closer for a while,” he added, pulling him near again, holding him gently with one arm.

“The only positive of it is that you might catch the Despair Disease from me and die! Yes, my talent will surely make it happen, and it would be such amazing luck,” Nagito spoke again, his own tone – cheerful, almost like he wanted to burst into laughter – making him flinch. Hajime looked at him with a mix of confusion and surprise, and then smiled calmly again.

“Oh, that does make sense, I probably shouldn’t get that close,” he said, scratching the back of his head. But, contrary to his own words, he didn’t let go, instead wrapping his other hand around Nagito’s shoulders, now cuddling him tightly. His body was soft, and it made Nagito relax unwillingly, now leaning against him, letting himself enjoy the moment. He could feel his heartbeat: strong, methodical, probably a bit faster than normal, but nothing compared to his own heart, racing rapidly.

“Aw, I’m sorry,” Hajime said, sounding playful, without the slightest hint of remorse in his voice. He leaned back, still not letting go, but now gently putting Nagito’s body, still way too weak and limp, on the bed. “God, you’re hot… Um… I mean, your body temperature,” he said awkwardly, and although Nagito couldn’t see his face, he was sure he was blushing, scratching the back of his head again. “I know you probably feel overheated already, but we need to keep your body warm, so please understand,” he said, fiddling with something on the other side of the bed. The next second Nagito felt the weight of a pretty heavy warm blanket on him, as Hajime tucked it in carefully.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be here. I’ll just sit on that chair on the other side of the room and will watch you until Mikan arrives, okay?” Hajime asked, his tone starting to become worried again. “Don’t worry… Monokuma is forbidden from actually killing any one of us. So I’m sure it’ll get better. Just hold on a little bit longer,” he added, probably trying to calm himself down just as much as he was attempting to comfort Nagito. His breathing became a bit easier, but the waves of weakness were getting worse with every second, and he felt like he couldn’t get up no matter how hard he would try.

Hajime put his hand on his forehead… then pressed his lips against his cheek lightly, giving him a soft, pleasant kiss. Body temperature, he was just checking his body temperature, nothing more, Nagito was sure, but his face went red nonetheless. He turned his head to the side, burying his nose into the pillow, in a pathetic attempt to hide it. “So, try to sleep and regain your strength,” Hajime said, not noticing – or pretending not to notice – his pitiful efforts. Nagito still wanted him to stay, and he hated it, hated it, hated it, it was an awful wish, so selfish, it would be horrible if Hajime got the disease and gave Mikan more work or if he got it really bad and had to stay in bed, if he experienced all that weakness and shortness of breath and temperature and everything, and…!

And died. Nagito wasn’t sure why he suddenly was so hesitant to let his thought into his mind. Everyone he wanted to stay with him had always died, one by one.

“Hope you’ll get well soon,” Hajime spoke quietly, as if he was thinking Nagito might be sleeping already. Then he took a step back, now making himself comfortable in the chair.

Nagito struggled not to answer, trying to stop his tongue from creating another terrible, twisted, hurtful lie and bring it to reality. This time he succeeded, as his weak, failing body succumbed to the pleasant unconsciousness faster than he could form a single word.

Chapter 4: Do Ultimate Lucky Students Dream of Love Confessions?

“I was fine with it when I was healthy, but it would be lonely to die alone…”

The room was bright. Too bright. It made Nagito head spin, although he wasn’t sure if it was from those awful, acidic colors twisting the walls and the furniture and everything that was in the Funhouse into a mess with the single purpose of making people go insane, if not from the hunger and the lack of sleep. He tried to concentrate on Hajime’s face, the only thing that looked familiar, and normal, and comforting in this hell of wonderlands. The other boy stared narrowly into his eyes.

“So, it was a weird thought. Never would have thought it’d appear in my mind. But now, when I feel death coming closer and closer, all I want is… someone to love me. Or at least, to understand me,” he said quietly. The weight of his words suddenly got to him, but he understood it all too late. Hajime looked at him seriously, and he expected to see a familiar glint of pity in his eyes, but what he saw instead was genuine concern. For some reason that’s even worse, and he turned his head away, looking at the palm of his hand, unable to bear seeing the other boy’s eyes.

“Or… maybe it was something I read in a book,” he said calmly, smiling, waving his hand as usual. He definitely told him too much. It probably was the hunger, and the sleep deprivation, and those stupid walls, green and pink and green and pink and green and pink and grape and strawberry. And his genuine desire to have someone believe him, have someone take him seriously, have someone love him, but he would never let those dumb feelings control him. He knew he didn’t deserve any of that. But he hoped he at least was worthy or of someone who will make him a good and appreciable sacrifice for them. So, it must’ve been hunger. Definitely hunger.

Hajime made a step forward. His motions seemed slow, but Nagito was not sure if it was because he was hungry and powerless too or because his own mind was just processing things like that. Without words, Hajime lifted up his hand and gave Nagito a strong, sonorous slap on the face, enough to make him turn his head away.

It didn’t feel painful, though. His cheek just got numb and red, as he looked at Hajime, blinking in surprise, the flashing images of his face surrounded by green and pink and green and pink and green and pink and warm and dear to his heart almost making him feel nauseous.

“Why did you lie?” Hajime asked, quietly, but his low voice just made it sound more clear in the silent empty hallway.

“Aw, that. I just wanted some of your sympathy, I guess. Wanted to know how it felt,” Nagito answered carelessly, making a step back in confusion.

“Do you think I’m stupid?” Hajime asked again, lifting up his head and looking him into the eyes. Nagito gulped, making another step back instinctively. He was so stupid, upsetting a shining symbol of hope with his problems unworthy of anyone’s attention.

“Of course not,” he answered reassuringly, a look of worry on his face. “I would not ever think that about someone chosen by the Hope’s Peak Academy, ever,” he said, clenching his hand and putting it on his chest.

“Damn it, not this again,” Hajime groaned, his quiet fury giving up its place to a good old annoyance. “Forget about damn Hope’s Peak Academy. Do you think I am stupid? Or do you think I don’t care?” he asked, now staring at Nagito seriously.

“No,” he answered without thinking, making Hajime’s face soften. For some reason he felt a chill go down his spine.

“Good. I believe you,” Hajime smiled, coming closer. “Now, knowing I’m not stupid and I do care about you, which part of everything you said was a lie?” he asked, frowning slightly, a look of concern returning to his expression.

“The part…” – Nagito gulped nervously, struggling to find the right words. His mind screamed, and his very being begged him, no, don’t do this, don’t pull Hajime closer, don’t drag him deeper into this mess than he already is, he wouldn’t last long, your luck will do him in and if it won’t, your delusional mind and awful personality and ugly face and disgusting voice and your utter uselessness will bring him down forever, but…

But he gave up.

“The part with the book, I think,” he said awkwardly, looking at his hand again. It was a convenient place to look; anywhere but Hajime’s eyes and those green and pink walls

“You think?” Hajime asked, sighing, but the expression on his face was one of relief. “See, I know why you would… not want anyone to know those things,” he said, his voice soft and calming. “If I were you, I wouldn’t want that either. It is difficult to make someone you know, and someone who is dear to you, go through this. But making yourself go through it alone, not letting anyone help, is even worse,” he added, clenching his fist with a weird determination in his eyes, like when he was talking about how they all would leave that place, alive and well, without needing to sacrifice anyone. “And for me, making you go through this alone is way more painful than… any alternatives,” he spoke softly, but firmly. In a tone that made Nagito want to believe him.

“I see…” – Nagito was bad at finding the words, but he mustered enough courage to look back into Hajime’s eyes. The other boy smiled at him affectionately. He came close, touching his cheek gently.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done this,” Hajime said, sounding way more remorseful than he probably needed to.

“Huh? Oh, it’s nothing, really…” – Nagito smiled, as Hajime’s warm fingers against his cheek made it tingle, slightly. The spot was still red. Hajime frowned.

“What you should do first is stop this ‘I’m okay if people hurt me’ stuff,” he sighed, putting his hand on Nagito’s shoulder. Nagito looked at him with confusion, and for some reason it made Hajime’s eyebrows furrow more in displeasure.

“But why?” Nagito asked, looking at him seriously. “Isn’t it just a logical thing, I mean? If I’m worthless, at least I can make someone else worthy? Like, if someone had a bunch of sticks, a ragged cloth, and an old hat, he could make a scarecrow from it, making a worthless thing into a worthy one?” – or burn it all to get some warmth, he wanted to say, but didn’t. Hajime sighed.

“That’s… that’s not it at all…” – He looked resentful, almost as if it was he himself who’s being called trash. “Don’t compare people to garbage!” – Hajime’s body got tense; Nagito could clearly feel it standing so close to him.

“But they are! Those poor fools, powerless to change anything, deluding themselves that hard work will get them somewhere, will let them change the world, how pathetic,” he said, shrugging, a weird hint of gleefulness sneaking into his voice as he continued to ramble. “But hey, as least they can be useful! Me, though? My literal destiny is to bring misery and pain upon anyone I meet! That’s all I’m good for!” he exclaimed loudly, almost sounding like was proud of it. Hajime’s hand relaxed as he pulled it away. Nagito wanted him to slap his face again, stronger, with all his power, maybe then his luck will make him fall and snap his neck, or crack his skull, and then Hajime will escape, finally, someone would leave this cursed island…!

Hajime wrapped both of his arms around him, pulling him into a hug. His warm body was shaking weakly, but only by the tone of his voice did Nagito understand that he was crying.

“Stop it,” he said, softly, but sternly, voice remaining clear. “Stop comparing people… to those weird things. And stop comparing yourself… to those weird things as well,” he added, cuddling Nagito closer, making all his words and all his counterarguments stick in his throat, and even his thoughts go empty, thinking about nothing but Hajime’s gentle hands and his arms on his back and the warmth of his body. “And even if you won’t stop… You’re my ragged cloth that I will patch to the end of time, and I will never throw it away, or burn it, or make a scarecrow of it, because… it’s dear to me,” he said seriously. The comparison made Nagito’s face red and hot again, his embarrassment doing a good job at hiding his amusement.

“So, please, stop,” – Hajime looked into his eyes, without interrupting the hug. Nagito didn’t remember when he started to hold him back. “I said it earlier and I repeat: I don’t want you to get hurt, or to die” – he pursed his lips and that weird aura of determination returned to him again. It brought… a truly pleasant, hopeful feeling in Nagito’s mind. Even for a second, he could just enjoy it, getting lost in the moment, closing his eyes and putting his head on Hajime’s shoulder. Only when the other boy leaned back, he remembered…

He knew he didn’t deserve it.

“I love you,” he said, a bit too simply for those powerful words, but for some reason they came out easily, like it was something always meant to be said. Hajime smiled…

Before he could understand, Hajime pulled him into another hug, silencing his worries with a gentle kiss.

All his doubts were gone. He knew it now.

If he gets to the Strawberry house ever again, he will go into the Final Dead Room.

Chapter 5: Smile at Hope in the Name of Despair

“Really, you shouldn’t worry about me. Just go and have fun with the others,” Nagito said, smiling. The hotel lobby was quiet, and nobody was there except Hajime. Why did he come? Wasn’t Nagito clear enough about not wanting to have anything to do with any of them? He probably should’ve tried to shoo him off harder, way harder, but he couldn’t summon the past feelings of rage and betrayal, to fuel all the hurtful things he could think about. He just got worn out, his mind weirdly clear, now completely focused on the plan.

After all, he is no better than any of them himself, so what right did he have to pretend to feel so hurt and disgusted by their actions?

“No!” Hajime exclaimed loudly, anger flashing in his eyes, as he kicked the floor underneath. Nagito looked at him with surprise. “I refuse,” he said, trying to calm down, tears starting to form in the corners of his eyes.

“Why not? Do you want something from me?” Nagito asked casually, expression unchanged. For some reason, his nonchalant tone made Hajime look more hurt and enraged than any of his previous remarks ever could as he came closer, his resentment clear in each loud footstep.

“Yes, I do,” he blurted out, tone almost sarcastic, like he was saying something obvious and self-evident. “Just what the hell happened to you?!” he exclaimed, the anger and sadness mixing up in his voice still making Nagito feel a pang of guilt, and he had no idea why would it have such an effect, because even the thought of killing them didn’t seem to do the same. He sighed, trying to shrug off that weird sensation… god, why was there no switch in his head to stop caring about that stupid red face, about those oddly keen, but kind eyes, about that spiky, pleasantly tickling hair.

Right now, he could as well have been tying up his arms and legs, applying knots slowly with one hand, the spear’s cord already in his grip.

But he didn’t, as he continued wasting time with Hajime. “And I don’t. Leave me alone,” he said firmly, trying not to look at the other boy. It got harder as he came closer, almost like he wanted to pull him into another hug…

“Back off,” Nagito snarled at him, pulling out the army knife that he already had prepared long ago. Hajime stopped, looking at it with more confusion than fear. “I don’t want to kill you and die a dumb death from being executed, but come any closer and I will use it,” Nagito said, his tone friendly, but serious. Hajime seemed to hesitate.

Right now, Nagito could as well have been lifting up that knife above himself. He did hesitate, especially before the first stab, when he sat there for a good minute, looking at the blade until the anxiety became more unbearable than any pain he could imagine. Then he swung his arm as quickly as he could. The feeling of one’s skin being torn up a bit was probably familiar to any person, but the agonizing sensation of the muscles and tendons and vessels getting ruptured as the knife was tearing through them all alike was like nothing he ever felt before. His scream, even muffled by the tape, echoed through the room, ringing in his ears more than the loud, roaring music.

Right now, he could as well have been preparing to pull it out, the thought of doing it all again and again and again making him shiver, even though he knew it was what he deserved.

But he didn’t, as Hajime continued to come closer, still looking a bit unsure. “You won’t,” he said, trying to hide his anxiety, but his voice was giving him away, every hint of anger and sadness washed away by the fear. He made a step forward.

“What makes you think so?” Nagito asked, his tone sounding curious and almost amused. He looked at the knife, playing with it in his hands, hoping his luck would stop him from accidentally losing a finger.

“Because…” – Hajime came close, dangerously close. Despite being the one with the knife, it was Nagito who needed to take a step back. Hearing Hajime’s voice, seeing his face, letting him touch his cheek, hugging him, kissing him; it was all too much, it could make him give up, and he couldn’t, he didn’t want to…!

Why was he even so hesitant? His plan would end up with Hajime, and all the other people he had called his friends and his classmates, dead anyway. Except the traitor. He didn’t know who it was, but he knew for sure it couldn’t have been Hajime. What a terrible luck it was to be aware of that. Damn that notebook for stripping him from the only delusion that would bring him any comfort. In the Funhouse, he was still clinging to the pathetic chance of “dying for the sake of his beloved”, how stupid, how childish, how pathetic it was. Nagito looked at the knife…

Right now, he should have been staring at this very knife in his hand, already covered in his own warm blood, and gripping it tighter. Pulling it out was almost worse than plunging it in. His shaky hands probably didn’t help, making the knife disturb already wounded flesh, all his instincts telling him to stop. He thought it would be way easier, way faster, a quick succession of stabs and slashes. In reality, he just wanted it to end already, despite the fact that it had just began. But he couldn’t. There was no going back now.

There was no going back the moment he read the files.

Right now, he could as well have been taking a deep breath, preparing himself for another wave of excruciating pain. It didn’t make it any more bearable when he swung his arm again until it hit something soft – and his mind registered that this something was his own flesh, ruptured way too easily by the sharp steel. He cried out, writhing, screaming until he was gasping for breath, thankful that the tape made all the sounds muffled, too weak to be heard. His leg jerked – or at least tried to, held back by the rope, but it was enough for the blade to press against the muscles, buried deeply into the flesh, evoking another weak attempt to shout.

Right now, he should have been pulling the knife out as fast as he could. He was trying to catch his breath, desperately needing a break, but it didn’t stop him from bringing the knife down again. His body was fighting against itself, making him try to jerk his hand away before the blow, to move his leg out of its way, to do anything just to make it stop, but he struggled against it, moving his arm down in another shaky motion. He missed the spot a bit, making the tip of the knife press against the already open wound, and the sensation was unbearable; the feeling of the burning, violent agony was so bad it made him drag the knife away way faster than he should…

Right now, he could’ve been screaming, yelling. It was loud, so loud that he was hearing it despite the gag, feeling the tape stretching out around his mouth. He could almost call it relieving, painfully comforting, his pathetic cries and thrown-back neck and arched back distracting him from the pain, if it wasn’t for his throat starting to get dry and sore.

Nagito’s head was spinning, and he tried to shake it, as if that could help him to see anything but red. The new injury was not even half as deep as the other ones… Bad… Suspicious… He was weak. Why was he so weak? He knew that if he ever wanted to clean himself from despair, to earn the world’s forgiveness, he needed to endure any punishment prepared for him. Everything was deserved. In fact, he deserved way worse.

And yet, he decided to just leave it like this, hoping Hajime and the others wouldn’t actually check.

Right now, he should have been swinging the knife again, trying to hold it more steadily. With the fourth stab, he realized that the pain started to get weaker. Probably because of the severed nerves, or just from getting used to it, perhaps. With the fifth one, he was slowly regaining his ability to think straight. With the sixth blow, he felt like the new pang of pain was nothing compared to the lingering feeling of agony from the previous wounds…

With the sixteenth one, he realized there was no place on his right leg he could reach that wasn’t already ripped apart and covered in deep bleeding injuries. He felt the blood soaking his clothes, making them wet and sticky, and sensed it flowing down to the floor. At the beginning of it, it was just slightly warm. Now it felt almost hot, as his skin was getting colder, somehow paler than it already was.

Right now he could as well have been trembling in fear, realizing it was less than half of what needed to be done.

But he didn’t, instead desperately trying to figure out what he was supposed to do with the situation he found himself in. He could’ve just listened to Hajime, then waited until he’s gone, then continued with the plan. He could’ve done this, it was so easy, or it would be so easy if Hajime wasn’t so kind to him, so supportive, so understanding, so willing to listen and to reach out. Even now, he was still trying to do this, despite everything Nagito did and said to him, despite every insult, both accidental and those carefully chosen to sting as deeply as possible. Despite the fact that he was threatening his very life, along with the lives of all his friends.

Nagito didn’t deserve him.

Why was he still thinking about Hajime in this way, Nagito wondered. He was supposed to be an enemy, a living incarnation of despair. He was an awful, evil person; Nagito knew it for a fact. And yet he was there, so dear and so close and still wanting to talk to him, to figure him out already. Why was he so stubborn with this?

He should’ve just tricked him, saying it’s alright now and he doesn’t want to hurt anyone anymore. Thinking about it, it would have made the plan even more likely to work by decreasing the chance of them starting to suspect any malicious intent from him.

But he knew himself and he knew that he couldn’t. The moment he let Hajime come closer, he would lose. He would succumb to his selfish wishes and give up.

He wanted to give up.

He let the thought of abandoning everything, of betraying hope, not the first, but the second time, invade his mind. The realization started to sink in, and he pointed the knife at Hajime. Why was the idea of hurting him directly was still so unbearable?

“Seriously, don’t get any closer,” Nagito said, all his energy directed at keeping his composure. He hoped Hajime couldn’t read him well enough to understand how panicked and conflicted he was. “As I said earlier, I don’t want to actually kill you, so I’ll aim at your non-vital points, but hey, knowing my luck, anything could happen” – he wanted to laugh cheerfully, but the sound that escaped was more of a cough. “So, can you make it easier and just go away?” – he didn’t understand when his tone had become pleading, almost desperate.

Go away.

Just go away.

Just come closer, come closer, ignore everything I said, just be with me for now, hold me closer.

Hajime flinched, pausing for a bit, his whole body tense and sweat running down his forehead. Nagito gulped, watching him in anticipation. Hajime made another step forward, making him feel both fear and relief… and regret, regret that he didn’t just go to that damn warehouse earlier.

Right now, he could as well have been there, finishing with his second leg. At first each wound brought him a feeling of sharp, intense pain. Now those feelings were slowly transforming into an overall agonizing sensation that felt like it was covering every muscle in his thighs. His legs started to get numb, he noticed with relief. He needed to do something with his arm now, he remembered, getting dizzy from the blood loss, breathing heavily through his nose.

Right now, he could as well have been tracing the blade down across his shoulder, barely having energy to make the knife even rip through the fabric of his jacket, leaving a shallow, bleeding cut. His screams died down to weak pitiful whimpers, barely audible even for his own ears.

Right now, he could as well have remembered the most painful part is yet to come.

But he didn’t, as Hajime was coming closer and closer, making Nagito take a step back with each of his steps forward. Nagito soon found himself pressed against the wall, the knife still in his hand. Hajime now looked at him a bit more confidently as he made the final step forward. Their noses were almost touching each other. Carefully, Hajime put his palm on the blade of the knife, then gently took it from Nagito’s hand. Nagito looked at it, almost feeling like he was unable to move as the other boy sighed with relief and tossed the weapon across the room. He heard it hit the wall with a clang.

“See?” Hajime asked, wrapping his arms around Nagito’s shoulders, holding him, tears standing in his eyes. “God, it was pretty scary, I must admit,” the other boy spoke softly, laughing a little. That was almost enough to make Nagito smile in return. “But I believed in you,” he said, sounding weirdly solemn, before cuddling him closer. “Always believed, and it always will be this way” – Hajime was crying now; Nagito could hear it in his voice.

At this very moment, he could’ve been raising his hand above the knife standing blade-up. His breathing was heavy and ragged. His body quivered weakly – he didn’t know if it was from the pain or from the fear, or probably both. He really, really, didn’t want to do it. It wasn’t even necessary for the plan. He could as well have tossed the knife aside and left it at that, waiting for the poison to bring him mercy…

He slammed his hand down with all the power that was left in his broken body.

The pain came delayed, and it felt almost like the time it took for his brain to process it made it worse. His immediate reaction, the instinct that stops people from accidentally hurting themselves, made him try to jerk his hand back, to get it away from whatever was attacking. His arm twitched, lifting up instinctively, but the weight of the knife brought it down, the metal screeching against the floor. Only then did he scream, and before that he was ready to swear he was unable to do so anymore. His body wriggled in convulsions, trembling, no longer in his control, his fingers twitching as the pool of blood underneath his palm was getting wider.

Right now, he could have been slowly regaining his composure, barely keeping himself conscious, tossing the toy away with a swift movement and stretching out his arm to make it look like it was tied up, hoping to do it before the flash of adrenaline wears out.

But he didn’t, instead hugging Hajime in return, trying to keep his warm body closer. He was crying – not from pain or fear, but from happiness, feeling his gentle touches and listening to his soothing words. Hajime leaned back a bit, to look right into Nagito’s eyes.

“I knew it all along. It’s because you love me. And, no matter how much you want to deny it, I love you.”

Hajime Hinata never said that.

He smiled warmly, as if Nagito didn’t threaten him with the knife a couple minutes ago. As if he didn’t try to scare him and his friends with the bomb. As if he didn’t spend the last few days insulting him and putting him down at every chance he had. He still stood there with open arms, welcoming him back.

Hajime Hinata never did that.

Hajime Hinata never approached him on the beach. Probably never figured out his real scheme either. The ones who took the effort to take care of him and keep him from starving were Mahiru Koizumi, and Monomi, the teacher. Hajime Hinata never was able to figure out his lies, whether they were caused by the disease or said voluntarily. Even if he did, he never bothered to explain it.

Right now Hajime Hinata was probably having fun with the others. Well, searching around, chasing after the non-existent bombs was not exactly fun, but…

Nagito let out a quiet, short sob. From the pain, surely, only from that. The torture had ended long ago, and most of his body felt numb and distant, but the burning sensation all over it was still nothing short of agony. He knew he deserved it all. To suffer until his last breath; a fitting end for him.

Even now, why was his mind still clinging to Hajime Hinata?

He didn’t know how much time had passed, or how much he had left. Minutes passed, and he felt like each of them was an hour. Or maybe those really were hours? Nagito was not sure. He was trying not to move, but his body was still trembling, with occasional convulsive motions shaking him up. Something was breaking inside him, he could tell. He had tried to make the blood loss slow, with the stab wounds facing upwards and the knife remaining impaled into his hand, making the bleeding weaker. All to hold on long enough for the traitor to kill him. All for the sake of fixing his mistake.

He’ll die alone.

All he wanted now was to hear Hajime’s voice once again.

Hajime wasn’t perfect. Hajime was, in reality, just a scared, stupid kid. But he tried to help. Even if it was not enough, he really tried. He didn’t understand, but he wanted to understand; he was trying to understand. He needed just a little bit more time.

Or that was what Nagito chose to think.

Finally, he heard a sound that was not the repeating music. It was the roar of a fire as the curtain ignited to his right, the blaze chasing away the creeping darkness. All Nagito could see was his own blood. He tried not to look, staring at the ceiling instead. There were voices… Akane and Kazuichi, yelling loudly, but he still couldn’t make out the words. Sonia mentioned the fire grenades…

It will end soon, and he didn’t know if that brought more fear or relief.

He just wanted a confirmation that Hajime Hinata was real. That he did care in his own awkward way. It was so pathetic. The way was he still clinging to this idiot, this moron, this traitor… Sadly, not the one from the Future Foundation – instead he betrayed the very idea of hope.

But Hajime did come to him in that hospital. He volunteered to help Mikan. He helped him to get up, and assisted him as they went there… That was all reality, right?

Something whistled. The sound of broken glass followed. The fire was closer than Nagito thought, and he suddenly felt hot, even more than he previously did with the disease. The smoke filled his nose and the music continued to play. The poison was probably spreading from somewhere already.

For some reason, he tried to hold his breath.

He wanted to stay there just for a bit longer, just to hear something, anything that Hajime would say. It didn’t matter what. It didn’t matter how. He just was clinging to this irrational, pathetic wish.

No matter who Hajime Hinata was, Nagito loved him.

His body grew too weak. He felt like his consciousness was about to leave him at any second as his vision now filled with colorful flickering spots. The spear was dangling above him – that was all he could see… He closed his eyes… Just the sounds. Focus on the sounds. On hearing Hajime’s sweet voice once again.

The next thing he felt was his hand slipping.

The flash of fear in his mind was not fast enough to make him tighten his grip again. Before the blow, all he could do was scream.

The pain didn’t come this time. All that followed was a cacophony of sounds, of all kinds of things in the human body getting torn apart and destroyed. The wet, sickening noise of steel going through his skin and flesh was all too familiar, but the loud crunch that followed still made Nagito flinch, something primordial inside him saying it was not right. He just hoped that it was his ribcage, not his spine. Why so, he had no idea, as he knew a long time ago it was the end for him anyway.

Unable to hold on any longer, he finally took a deep breath.

He expected the poisonous gas to burn his lungs, to make him choke, but instead it just made him feel sleepy and numb. His body finally stopped shaking, all his sensations fading away slowly. For some reason, he opened his eyes again. The sounds, he was still trying to focus on the sounds…

The voices didn’t come again, and soon the fire and even the music faded away, as if he was hearing them through a wall of water. As his consciousness finally left him, all that remained was his own muffled scream that was ringing loudly in his ears until it got stuck in his throat, his expression distorted into a look of fear and agony.

No matter what Hajime could think or feel about him, seeing that expression engraved on his face brought him nothing but guilt, regrets and nightmares.

Chapter 6: The Day Before the Future

“Hey, can you hear me…?”

Of course, Hajime knew nobody in the room could hear him, but it felt right to ask this question anyway. He looked at the person behind the glass pod with an expression that could be described as a weird mix of both hope and resignation, determination and fatalism. He will work on it. He will, eventually, wake everyone up. He just knew it wouldn’t happen right now, as some sort of magical miracle. After all, if something as small as words would be enough to break a person out of a deep trauma-induced coma caused by their brain accepting they were dead, why would anyone train doctors and nurses and surgeons?

He wasn’t sure why he kept coming there, because it made no sense, and the fact that he was actively trying to talk to someone who gives him as much of a reaction as the wall of glass between them made even less sense, but…

It would be just too sad to leave Nagito completely alone.

So Hajime came to visit him… occasionally. Not every day, like Sonia did with Gundham, or Fuyuhiko – with Peko. But definitely more often than to anyone else on that island. Recognizing it made him feel… weird. He sighed, unknowingly placing his hand against the glass, tapping his fingers slightly. Of course, there’s no reaction.

“Why do I still want to talk to you so much?” Hajime asked, talking to both himself and the boy in the pod. Really, why? By all logical means, he should hate him. His rational mind told him to fear him. He knew it was weird, to hold this much attachment to someone who tried to kill you twice. And yet…

All his efforts to hate Nagito was always weak and vain, and all the grudges he could hold vanished the second he saw the boy’s dead body. When he came closer and closer to the truth behind the murder, he still felt fear, and anger, and he wanted to yell that this was messed up and wrong and not fair and what the actual fuck, but… As soon as he said final goodbyes and stumbled to his cottage, barely awake, trying to forget that day like it was a bad dream, all that was left was just sadness and guilt and inability to comprehend why in the world would anyone wish – and not only wish, but also actively inflict – that awful torture upon themselves.

At least now he looked peaceful, sleeping behind the pod, lying without movements except for his chest raising up and down, showing that he’s still breathing, still alive, that there’s still some hope for him left. His face was calm, eyes and mouth closed, with no signs of any pain or fear and discomfort to be seen. Hajime focused on it, trying to remember it like this, as if it would erase the horrific imagery he saw in the stimulation, still vivid before his eyes.

It wasn’t real.

But the emotions and thoughts that caused Nagito to plan and do it were. He can’t ignore them.

Hajime wanted to understand them. Because only after understanding them, could he fight them.

He sighed again, standing up from his chair, removing his hand from the pod. Before leaving, he took another quick glance at the boy…

Was he giving him too much credit? Thinking about it, there was nothing that could guarantee he wouldn’t just try to murder them again if… when he finally wakes up. Hajime shook his head, trying to chase away that thought.

That thought, wasn’t it the same that caused Nagito to try to kill them all? Hajime knew he shouldn’t give up to it. He was preparing to show it wasn’t true. To prove that each one of them deserved a second chance. A chance to build a new shining future.

“I will come again soon.”

---

“Hey… I have researched your medical files…”

Hajime spoke quietly, still knowing nobody could hear him, and this probably had made his voice even more sad. Of course, Nagito didn’t answer, giving no signs that he’s listening, or even that he’s alive, although the latter was proven by the image on the monitor checking his vital signs, and his quiet, even breathing – a little bit too even, Hajime would say.

Three weeks had passed since the first person woke up, and it gave a much-needed morale boost to everyone who remained on Jabberwock Island. A ray of hope, Hajime would say, but using that word in this context didn’t seem right anymore. Mikan Tsumiki had opened her eyes at that morning, scared and confused and too intimidated to even leave her pod for hours, but thankfully Despair Disease didn’t seem to carry on into the real world. After that, the process of waking everyone up was slowed down a bit, since a lot of effort was spent on explaining everything to her, and making sure to deal with any complications in time.

But after that, everyone doubled their efforts. As the idea of waking their friends up turned from a miracle into a plausible possibility, Hajime could see the light return into Sonia’s and Fuyuhiko��s eyes, as he saw the princess leave Gundham’s side without trails on her cheek for the first time since their arrival on the real Jabberwock Island. They all were working, now knowing that their efforts would be eventually rewarded.

And Mikan was happy to join them. It was actually her idea to check everyone’s medical profiles – it would help to adjust the amount and the quality of food and meds they were getting, and to take care of any medical issues, if anyone had them. And, as Hajime figured out soon, they had a lot…

Reading Nekomaru’s file was just… painful. He was lucky Mikan got to wake up so fast – without extra meds and care from the nurse, he could’ve been dead before ever opening his eyes again.

And Nagito’s… Hajime didn’t know many of all those fancy medical words in his profile, but he clearly understood one thing – by all odds, he should’ve already been long dead.

But he wasn’t, instead continuing to plague Hajime’s mind with his existence, making him think and think and think about him, and everything he said and did way too much…

“When you said that… you have not much time left, and it would be too lonely to die alone, I didn’t know if I should believe you,” Hajime said, still not waiting for an answer, taking a seat in a chair conveniently placed near the capsule. “In fact, I probably just… didn’t want to believe it. Just like you didn’t want me to get too close, I didn’t want to let my weird… attraction grow stronger than it already was,” – he sighed. He still didn’t know why was he coming back to talk to a wall of glass, but if he wanted to get it all off his chest, Nagito was as good of a listener as anyone. After all, everyone else here has too much of their own emotional baggage to deal with.

“I want to say ‘damn, I wish I could figure it out earlier’, but in fact I just… chose to run away, didn’t I?” he asked, looking at Nagito attentively, trying to find any motion, any reaction, even if it was just his eyelids trembling or his mouth twitching, but there was nothing.

If he was awake, what would he say?

Would he put himself down, saying nobody should care about stuff like this anyway, every self-loathing remark hitting harder now, when Hajime knew it wasn’t all just for attention? Would he sneer and giggle, saying he’s surprised a Reserve Course fool like him could figure it out at all, pretending it’s impressive that he’s even able to read? Would he still try to take it back? Would he just ask to be left alone?

Hajime didn’t know, and this lack of knowledge was the worst. But at least now he knew it was possible to figure it out.

To fix it all.

This time he left without saying anything.

---

“Hello there… At least, now I have a good excuse to come.”

Hajime scratched the back of his head with his right hand, smiling slightly, holding a bucket full of cloths in his other one. At first, the manner of still gesturing, mimicking, adding intonations to his voice while talking to his sleeping classmates seemed weird to him. Now, he wished to keep it. By treating them like living people, he could remind himself they’re still alive. They would wake up.

Hajime came closer to the pod. After a short hesitation, he opened it. Thankfully, people in the capsules were still able to breathe properly, and support their own heartbeat. Their conscious minds were just… not responding. They’re just sleeping, they’re not dead, Hajime repeated again, looking at Nagito’s calm, pale face.

“Mikan told me your immune system is weakened and even the smallest sickness can turn into huge trouble when it comes to you, so we should keep you nice and warm,” he explained, and he didn’t know to who, but doing something like this without words felt a bit too awkward. “So I decided to bring you some warm blankets…” – Hajime’s face ran red for some reason, and the fact that it happened even when he knew for sure nobody could see or hear him anyway only made him feel more awkward.

He put his hands on Nagito’s shoulders. First, he needed to place the cloth under his body, so he lifted him up slightly, making him take a sitting position. He didn’t react. Didn’t respond. His skin was really pale and unnaturally cold. It was almost the same as turning around the hand of the corpse, to examine the blood pattern… Hajime shook his head quickly. He shouldn’t think about it in this way. He carefully placed a blanket over Nagito’s shoulders and gently put him back, returning to a lying position. Then took another one, and covered his chest. He was breathing. The corpse had not been breathing. There were no wounds and not a single drop of blood, but Hajime couldn’t shake the sense of uneasiness completely.

There was a hand in the pod, and it was not Nagito’s hand. Hajime preferred to not think about it when he covered it with another piece of cloth.

His hand… At first, Hajime thought they should just cut it off. But for some reason, it wasn’t rotting, and didn’t seem to affect anything in Nagito’s body at all, as if was just a morbid accessory he was wearing instead of a decaying piece of human flesh. Junko’s Enoshima’s flesh that he decided to made into a part of himself.

Another part of himself that Hajime needed to figure out. To understand. To accept. He touched Junko’s hand lightly. It was cold. He traced his finger up, to Nagito’s own shoulder, just to make sure it was a bit less cold. He waited for a short minute, until it could become warm. Only after that he closed the pod and stood up from his chair.

“I’ll come back tomorrow.”

So he did. Tomorrow, and the next day, and the day after that. He felt like he needed to.

---

“Hello… I hope Mikan was gentle with you today…”

Talking to Nagito didn’t feel weird anymore, probably because Hajime was doing it for so long. He came closer to the pod, hesitant, clutching a small box to his chest. He was the only one who kept visiting that place, except Sonia, who was coming to everyone and insisting that no friend should be abandoned since Gundham woke up, and Mikan, who was now taking care of them, moving their limbs and massaging them so their muscles wouldn’t atrophy from not being used.

Hajime offered his help. So did Sonia, and Mahiru. But Mikan insisted on doing it all alone, because nobody else was qualified enough, and to not feel useless, Hajime suspected, but of course he would never say such a thing.

“Everyone is waking up, slowly, but surely. The first was Mikan. Probably because knowing it was not real made it easier to her brain to cope. Then it was Mahiru, Hiyoko, Ibuki… and now Nekomaru and Gundham are with us as well,” he spoke with a slight smile, unable to contain the pride in his voice completely. But there was no reaction, as always, and it quickly made him frown again as he sat down near the pod.

How would Nagito even react? Would he be happy of this “hopeful” outcome, praising everyone for defeating Junko and overcoming their despair? Would he be mad that the incarnations of everything he hated were allowed to live again? Would he feel defeated? Maybe he could celebrate this defeat.

He surely wouldn’t be lying there so calmly, breathing slowly.

In this state, he couldn’t hurt and confuse them anymore. Couldn’t do anything dumb and stupid and dangerous to himself and others. Couldn’t bring any more pain to them. And to himself.

Couldn’t see the hopeful outcomes he was yearning for. Couldn’t help them to achieve it. Couldn’t drop roundabout hints and silent clues leading to the goal they pursued. Couldn’t explore the real Jabberwock, much bigger and grander, with Hajime. Couldn’t talk to him. Couldn’t make him feel special.

Now, when he didn't have to fear for his life, the thought that everything good and bad was now not here started to sink in again, making his chest heavy. He felt guilt. For deciding to take the offer and joining Kamukura project, mostly. For starting the mess they all found themselves in, for letting Junko sneak in, allowing her to drag them all into an awful killing game, and eventually to tell Nagito what he shouldn’t have known.

Of course, there was something more personal in this guilt too. He felt the regret of not taking more effort to reach out. To understand. To show more kindness… Would that be enough? Hajime wasn’t sure. Actually, he was more sure that only that wouldn’t have been enough to stop the tragedy from happening… But he still regretted not trying. Not taking a chance, just standing there, watching how someone who he once called a friend succumbs to his own insanity at best, and actively speeding up the process at worst, clueless what to do.

Hajime shook his head. It was the person who tried to kill him, he had to remind himself. The one who was ready to confuse them, mess with them, make them scared for their lives, actually risk their lives, all for the sake of a weird idea he still couldn’t completely understand. But he wanted to understand… no, needed to.

“Hey, can you hear me?” he asked again, still not sure why and for what. That phrase was… special for him, probably. Like a symbol, a memory of a kind, carefree boy who once helped him when he was in need. Approached him and tried to be his friend. He spent hours and days trying to figure out how much of that boy was real, and how much was just a twisted, cruel lie. And how he was still looking at him. Nagito’s eyelids twitched slightly in a barely noticeable motion, as if he was seeing a dream.

What he was dreaming of? Was it a happy and hopeful world, or the one where they all burned in hell, dragged there by Monokuma’s claws? Hajime wished to know it.

“I brought you something,” he suddenly spoke, opening a box hesitantly. Inside was a mechanical hand, fancy, cold and shiny. “I asked Kazuichi to make this for you… Convincing the Future Foundation to allocate resources for this was pain in the ass, Makoto said,” he added with a slight smile. He imagined Nagito with shining eyes, clapping his hands and gushing about how great Makoto, The True Ultimate Hope is, and it was enough to elicit a soft giggle.

“And, um, these are from me,” Hajime said hesitantly, putting the hand on the table near the pod and taking out what was underneath it. “These are books. After you wake up, we would have to place you under watch until we’re convinced you aren’t immediate threat to yourself and others… so you’ll probably need them for a while,” he explained with a soft smile. Nagito still didn’t react, without the slightest movement on his face, but Hajime was ready to swear he now looked at him slightly mockingly.

“Hey, you would be more grateful if you knew how hard was to get these on this damn island. There’s no convenient, perfectly-organized library with everything in excellent condition waiting for you,” he spoke with slight annoyance, but the soft smile never left his face. “These are detective books… Figured out you’d like them from looking around your cottage…” – he frowned slightly, trying not to think about the context of that visit. “Although I have no idea if you do like them or just used them to create and solve all those mysteries…” – he sighed. He probably was just overthinking. Nagito was just a person, he had to remind himself. A person who was allowed to just like and dislike some things.

If Hajime was more open to the thought that he was not as incomprehensible as he seemed from the beginning, the story could’ve ended differently.

This time, it will end differently…!

“Hope we’ll get to enjoy them soon together,” Hajime said, putting the hand back in the box and leaving it besides the pod. “I would read them for you now, but that would be too stupid, right…?” he asked, looking at the other boy, who was still lying there, quiet and motionless and unable to answer… but alive. Breathing and thinking. His face still didn’t move an inch, and the expression of sadness was surely just Hajime’s all-too-vivid imagination, amplified by stress and overworking himself…

“Okay, okay. Just one chapter, no more,” he said with a sigh, opening the book and thinking what he would say to Mikan and Kazuichi when they would eventually ask what took him so long.

---

Nagito’s consciousness was drifting in and out, as his weak and broken and failing body was clinging to its life desperately when all his mind wanted was a swift, merciful end. He didn’t even have the energy to convince himself it was what should’ve happened to people like him, to those who are too weak and too easy to break and drag to despair – he was just wishing, pleading, begging for it to stop already. Even now, his limbs continued to try to jerk away from the fire, all the pathetic attempts at motion with muscles that shouldn’t be able to move prolonging the pain that should’ve ended long ago.

Flashes of agony were followed by periods of numbness, while he was drifting away in daze, feeling like his body no longer belonged to him. It probably didn’t, as he couldn’t recall the last time when he was moving consciously, by his own free will… Right now he was feeling nothing except the pressure of the metal that got a bit stronger as he took each breath, and a bit weaker as he let it out. He tried to ignore it, to not think about what was causing it.

“Hey, can you hear me…?”

The voice in his head was all too clear, way closer and louder than the music, and the fire, and his own quiet muffled screams. It was Hajime’s voice, he recognized immediately. The voice he was searching for for so long… Of course, Hajime couldn’t have been that close. It was his imagination running wild, he knew it, but he still found the strength to feel a little grateful for this small gift from his delirious consciousness. He was living in delusions for so long, so why not allow himself that weakness one more time?

“Are you okay?” the voice repeated, now even closer, and he could’ve sworn he felt someone leaning over him if he didn’t know for a fact it was not possible, unless Hajime somehow found out the new talent of running through the fire and breathing highly toxic substances without any harm to his sweet, calming voice. “You look like you’re hurt, is it your hand?” – the voice now was worried and concerned. His hand… He tried to twitch his fingers, but for some reason he couldn’t.

“Hey, open your eyes, I see you aren’t sleeping anymore.” – the voice became demanding, annoyed even. Hajime being annoyed and not worried or concerned, it seemed like his delusions started to fit into reality a bit more, imitating it better. He sighed, and it suddenly made him realize he wasn’t screaming anymore.

He obeyed, opening his eyes, and immediately squinted from the bright light, instinctively covering his eyes with his left hand. His left hand… for some reason, it wasn’t tied up or injured anymore, he noticed as he slowly got used to the light. Hajime was leaning over him slightly, his face worried and uncertain. He wasn’t lying on the floor in the warehouse, that thought was slow to come and hard to sink in, but the floor beneath him was warm and soft, there was no knife and no spear in his flesh, and not a single drop of his blood was shed there anymore. His body wasn’t too numb to the pain – there was just no pain, and that feeling was so alien and unfamiliar it almost made him feel dizzy from the sudden switch.

“You must be so confused right now,” Hajime said quietly, as if he didn’t want to scare him off. Nagito blinked, and looked at his hand… It wasn’t his anymore, and realizing that evoked a flash of memories, distant and not so distant, forgotten and not so forgotten.

Hope’s Peak Academy. Chiaki Nanami, lying in a pool of her own blood. Junko Enoshima. The Tragedy. Neo World Program. Fixing what they’d done and giving the world’s future back to it… These words and concepts were familiar, but not enough to make total sense.

“Probably more confused than I was there on the beach,” Hajime spoke again, this time with a nostalgic smile. The beach and the killing game, those were the parts he remembered all too well, but still failed to make sense of. “But don’t worry. I’ll tell you everything. After a mandatory physical and mental health check up, of course…” – he smiled awkwardly.

Nagito wasn’t sure how to respond, with so many emotions twisting in his head to the point where he was unable to feel any of them properly. He probably should’ve been mad, enraged that his scheme failed, if Hajime was still alive… But for now he thought he should just obey until he knows more.

Hajime reached out his hand, smiling.

If it was reality, he could gladly accept this reality.

If it wasn’t, he would enjoy whatever his mind prepared until it gets crushed, to make the suffering from seeing it crumble more deserved.

But Hajime seemed so real, more real than on the beach, more real than anything he had seen in his life.

Nagito reached back and allowed him to grab his hand.

#danganronpa #sdr2 #komahina #nagito komaeda #hajime hinata #fanficton #thanks to Izum for beta reding this #and to Tunie for being Tunie #(and helping)#it was fun to write this

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