magical-beans

[magical-beans]

As someone who grew up with siblings, I just can't stop thinking about Nightwing and Red Hood getting into a fight in costume and Nightwing slapping his hand over Red Hood's mouth to get him to shut up, temporarily forgetting that he can still talk through the helmet, and Red Hood retaliating by trying to lick Nightwing's hand and accidentally just licking the inside of his helmet.

[magical-beans]

[magical-beans]

HOLD UP HOW WAS I NOT AWARE OF THIS

[magical-beans]

Chapter 5: The Truth About Love (and Broken Hearts) (Danganronpa x Reader)

Trigger Warnings: extremely graphic violence, mentions of suicide, mentions of trauma

(S/N) = Surname (Last Name)

(G/N) = Given Name (First Name)

Available on AO3

~死~

The first thing one must understand about DICE is that it doesn’t exist.

 DICE is a rumor. A legend. A myth made to scare children off the streets at night.

 The idea of an organization controlling the world from the shadows is too far-fetched to believe. Too mind-blowing. Too terrifying.

 So it simply… 

 …doesn’t exist.

 Ouma Kokichi likes to keep it that way.

 He has his reasons, of course: the most obvious to keep himself safe. To keep his family safe. 

 Another is convenience. It’s human nature to play off the intangible, the invisible. People forget the things they cannot see or touch. DICE is a child’s daydream, truly: ludicrous, but closer than one could ever imagine.

 Kokichi takes a secret, shameful satisfaction in the last reason.

 The mythical leader of DICE is as he’s always been. Dastardly without meaning, cruel without reason, malicious without justification. A pretty face without scars, both on the surface and below. He’s the storybook villain, and nothing about him is tragic except the devastation left in his wake.

 This is the version of himself Kokichi likes to imagine becoming. The one whose pain has been surgically removed.

 A guilty wish.

  ~死~

The second thing to know about DICE is that it was born out of righteous pain and justified frustration.

 Kokichi remembers his parents, and his parents’ friends, and the people at the orphanages.

 He remembers the stories of his family, each word laced with hurt and tears.

 He remembers who he once was: the petite boy with the pretty face and the silenced mouth.

 These memories are why he wears a scarf around his neck. Why he shies away from contact. They’re why he eats in bites fit for a mouse.  

 These memories are why he gives his family the absolute best. There is nothing they can’t have, nothing he won’t give them. They’ve been wronged one too many times. It won’t happen again.

 Kokichi was angry. Still is, actually. It’s a rage that burns and scalds and boils over with every broken gaze, every famished body.  

 It fuels him, this rage, and the larger DICE grows, his fire grows with it.

  ~死~

 The third thing to know about DICE is that its goal is revolution and retribution.

 Not revolution as seems in the movies: no wars, no blood, no tears.  

 But revolution that comes in slow waves and washing tides, and new sand is indistinguishable from old.

 The goal is to change the world gradually — piece by piece — and the world will be none the wiser.

 No, the blood and tears this slow revolution avoids find themselves swept up by the retribution.

 Ouma Kokichi is under no delusions about the world. He knows it’s an ugly, violent place. And while he doesn’t enjoy perpetuating this violence, he finds it a necessary evil.

 Justice is never served to the people who deserve it — because the people who deserve it most are often the best at hiding, or the ones doling it out.

 Lethal force is unnecessary. But blurring the lines a little never killed anyone. (He won’t say hurt, because everything hurts someone)

 In Kokichi’s eyes, the law is… subjective. An outline for an paper that no one wants to write, but it’s the easiest thing they’ll do all year, so they might as well keep their mark up while they can.  

 Thankfully, Kokichi has never been all that great at writing papers, let alone following the law.

 Petty acts of violence aren’t effective, though. If you’re going to do it, it has to be big. Explosions, shattering glass, high-speed chases. Make the show more eye-catching than whatever is behind the scenes.

 Make it unforgettable, and no one will remember the things that matter most.

 New shadows form in the face of extravagant violence. New places to hide, to dig deeper into the rot of society.

 New places to strengthen foundations and rebuild infrastructure and solve issues no one wants to touch.

 After all, DICE was founded with one goal in mind.  

 No More Pain.

  ~死~

 The last thing you need to know about DICE are the humble beginnings.

 The orphanage. The abusive, neglectful, haunted home. The abandoned child.

 The humble, broken beginnings.

 And just for you, I’ll tell them out of order.

 Takeda Yuu was the oldest of five children. With an absentee dad and an unstable mom, life was rough and expenses were tight. At eleven, Yuu was tall enough to pass as an adult, so he worked for an underground gambling ring to rake in extra money.  

 Most of it went to the little blue pills his mother downed every night.

 Speaking of whom, she wasn’t around often, overworking herself at two full-time jobs, so Yuu was the one to get his siblings up and out the door for school in the morning, into bed at night, and everything in between. The lot of them were ungrateful brats, but he wouldn’t trade them for the world.

 There was something wrong with his mother, he knew. He saw it in the way her hands twitched and the perpetual unfocused-ness of her eyes. It made him cringe when she would mutter about things that didn’t exist, when he had to guide her through the house as she kicked and screamed.

 Her condition had gone undiagnosed for years. They couldn’t afford a proper physician, so she had gone to some quack on a street corner who handed her a ziplock bag of pills every week and called it good. Yuu figured they didn’t work for shit, but they gave his mother peace of mind, so he kept quiet.

 She started slipping just before he turned twelve.

 The full bags of meds were the first sign.

 He’d been snooping. Sort of. Cleaning up after his mother, really, since she couldn’t do it herself. The late nights at work took too much out of her, so the house was in a constant state of disaster. It had been a few weeks since he had scrubbed down her bathroom, and she had already passed out for the night; there shouldn’t have been any harm.

 The counter was cluttered with pharmacy cosmetics, as always, and the faucet had a steady drip. The drawers were in various states of disarray, bottles and rubber bands sticking out here and there.

 The bag of blue pills sat amid it all, untouched.

 Yuu and his mother shared no words that following morning.

 After that, the next things to go were his mother’s jobs.

 The notices came one after another. Both ended up on the overcrowded table in the living room, stuffed beneath more paper in a poor attempt to hide them. In the Takeda house, it was a known fact that something could not be hidden from Yuu.

 His mother went out for the next few weeks, presumably to find a job, and Yuu prayed to God it was not to drink away their meager savings. 

 And then she began locking herself in her room all day. The muttering grew louder, and whispers of sacrifices wormed their way under her door and into Yuu’s ears as he dropped off her dinner.

 Her ramblings were like conversations, almost. Words would slip past her lips — horrible, awful words — and then she would shriek and holler, fighting back. ‘No’ was a very common word in what he took to be his mother’s side of the argument. Repeated over and over again.

 When the hollering, the conversation, the ‘no’s stopped, Yuu made a note to call the police when he got home from work.

 He was too late.

 When he arrived home that same night — feet slow and body tired with a want for rest — the light was on in the living room, glowing gold through the drawn blinds, and something was wrong. He had put his siblings to bed before he’d headed out, and his mother hadn’t left her room in days. Any lingering shadows of sleep were chased from his mind as Yuu raced for the front door, trembling hand fumbling with the keys, heart pounding in his chest. No, no no no-

 The door unlocked with a click, and Yuu nearly broke off the stiff handle as he rushed inside.

  Too late.

 His shoe landed in a puddle of blood with his first step in the door. It sloshed upward, staining the leg of his faded jeans. 

 Yuu’s sisters lied piled on top of each other just inside the door, dead. His oldest sister, the one underneath, was propped against the couch, face pale, throat slit. What else he could see of her was coated in red, and it stained his youngest sister’s hair where her head rested on her sibling’s chest. Yuu couldn’t see her face, but her hands had fallen white and limp at her sides, knuckles brushing the floor. The back of her shirt was torn in several places, skin ripped apart beneath it. Their blood pooled and mixed beneath them.

 Yuu found no comfort in knowing they held each other through death.

 A meter away, Yuu’s oldest brother was splayed face-down in a puddle of his own blood, top of his head directed toward his sisters. His skin was ashen, too, and his eyes were glassy, blown wide in pain and shock.

 And just beyond him stood Yuu’s mother, face shredded wide open with a manic grin and streaked with tears.

 “The voices demand sacrifices, Yuu, they demand them!” His mother screeched, a bloody kitchen knife held to the throat of his youngest brother. He was sobbing, fat tears trailing down his cheeks, and his wails of anguish pitched higher as his mother pressed the knife further into his throat. Dribbles of blood bubbled from the wound and slipped down his neck. He cried out for Yuu, reaching a hand towards his oldest brother.

 Yuu couldn’t breathe. He choked on his sobs, clutched at his neck when no air slipped through. His vision went blurry with tears, and his world wobbled, tilting on its side. Yuu stumbled forward, sloshing through the blood, reaching for his brother’s hand. His fingertips grasped at nothing but the open air. A cool breeze brushed through the unclosed door and singed the back of his neck.

 “They- they told me you were going to stop us, Yuu!” His mother’s pitch wavered, unable to stay steady. “We had to do it! We had to!” Unconsciously, her grip tightened on the knife, and it slid further into her captive’s throat. Breath escaped him, Yuu noticed, as the boy’s chest heaved in stuttering hiccups.  

 He was dying. He wouldn’t make it out alive. Yuu couldn’t fucking reach him.

 He had to watch his younger brother struggle, witness his pain, his terror.

 His mother finished the job, sliding the knife home without a thought. He dropped to the floor, spasming, spitting up blood. Yuu’s eyes tracked his fall, watched as he crumpled to the ground. Yuu wasn’t there to catch him. His feet wouldn’t move, glued to the floor with blood and tears.

 The knife collided with the floor with a dull thud, striking the floorboards by the tip. It was slick handle to blade with blood.

 Beside it, his mother sunk to her knees, grin finally slipping away into grief, and she held both hands to her throat. She gasped in the same manner as her son, choking on air. Yuu was a moment too late to realize what she’d done. A moment too late to catch her as she fell, too.

 Blood seeped through her fingers, dripped down her arms. Finally, miraculously, Yuu’s legs worked again, and he tripped over the dead bodies of his siblings to his mother. She gazed up at him with wide, horrified eyes. Her lips moved, but no sound came out. Sorry, Yuu imagined her saying, I’m so sorry.

 He couldn’t bring himself to smile, but words of comfort (useless platitudes) gushed from his lips. His hands brushed hair out of her face. His tears mixed with hers, and then her’s ceased and dried, and his kept coming with renewed effort.

 The knife taunted him, handle there for his taking. It would have been so easy to join them. His family. His loved ones. Yuu reached out a shaking hand for the sticky handle, gripping tightly to yank it from the floorboards. His entire arm spasmed, his vision blurry with tears he no longer had.  

 The blade was warm against his neck. Warm with blood, with the life it had stolen. Warm compared to the cold of the night beyond the open door.

 It slipped from Yuu’s hand before it could take a single sip of his blood.

 He couldn’t. He couldn’t do it. He was a coward. A coward. A fucking coward.

 He screamed. He wailed. He begged. But he couldn’t take his own life.

 So he ran.  

 He left the bodies of his family in that house, drowning in their own blood, and he ran. Away from everything. 

 The police were after him, now. He had been in that room, his prints on the knife, his shoes on that floor. Of his immediate family, he was the only one left, and he had no credible alibi, no money for a half-decent lawyer, much less a good one.

 So he ran.

 For two years.

 Homeless camp to homeless shelter to homeless camp.

 He considered turning himself in, sometimes. Maybe the law would give him the death he so craved but couldn’t give himself. But he was still a coward, so he didn’t.

 A shared can of beans here, an empty stomach there. Life was rough, not even worth living, and yet, Yuu still couldn’t let go.

 Then, after two years of running, he met the little commander.

 Now fourteen, the police had tracked him to Tokyo. It wouldn’t be long before they made it to the camp. Yuu had packed his only clothes in his ragged, old backpack and was on his way to leave. The sun was setting; the sky streaked with pink over the horizon of buildings, and the air still warm.  

 Yuu shouldered his bag and steeled himself for a long walk.

 Hood up, his stain-addled sweatshirt hid his mess of unwashed hair and grimy face. His toes wiggled in the holes of his too-small shoes. 

 Yuu made it just about two kilometers when he heard a shout and a whimper from an alley as he passed. Laughter echoed after. It gave him pause—a slight hesitation in his step—as his mind quieted.

 “Hey! Get away from me, you buttfaces!”

 It wasn’t a hard decision.

 Never again.

 Yuu turned on his heel and prowled into the alley.

  Never again will I stand by and let someone get hurt.

 Two men towered over a child, laughing as they kicked him into a corner. A spilled grocery bag lay off to the right, contents scattered on the cement. 

 This was probably less about money than it was a sick sort of pleasure.

 The kid cowered in the corner, away from the two men, squeezing himself into it further with every blow. His lip was bloodied, and his jaw throbbed a bright red, yet the look in his eyes remained defiant. Terrified, but defiant.

 “Hey,” Yuu growled, stalking toward the two men. He knew he was intimidating. If nothing else, the last two years had been good to his height, and he was growing yet. Yuu didn’t want to hurt the two men, but he hoped that by glaring and pounding a fist into his palm he would get the message across. “Leave the kid alone.”

 Luckily, the two men seemed to understand and scampered out of the alley with their tails between their legs, sneaking backward glances at him as they made their escape. Yuu paid them no mind as he rushed to sweep up the kid’s groceries and help him stand.

 “You okay, kid?” He asked, crouching down and reaching out a rough hand. Upon closer inspection, the kid’s clothes were threadbare, and his shirt rode up to display more patchy red where he’d been kicked. His skin was clean, though, and his hair was glossy, if wild, so he at least had a home. Or at least more dedication to his personal hygiene. Yuu couldn’t remember the last time he brushed his teeth.

  The kid had a finger in his mouth, poking at something with a perplexed look on his face.

 “Kid?”

 Finally, his eyes snapped to Yuu, still more concerned with the finger in his mouth than the large stranger in front of him, it seemed. 

 “Isth my thooth thippt?”

 Yuu sighed, shaking his head.

 “I can’t understand you when you have your fingers in your mouth. And you shouldn’t be putting your hands in your mouth, anyway. They aren’t clean.”

 The kid slowly slipped his finger out of his mouth, looking wide-eyed at Yuu. 

 “Is my tooth chipped?”

 As his mouth formed around the question, Yuu could see that his very front tooth was broken, an anomaly in the otherwise straight row of teeth. The kid reached up and pulled his upper lip away, and yep, he was missing most of his tooth.

 “Uh,” Yuu started. He wasn’t sure how he wanted to break it to this kid that Yuu didn’t know that he was now missing a part of his bone. “Yeah, sorry dude.”

  Wow! So tactful! Good fucking going!

 The kid blinked at him. Vivid green eyes bored into him as the brain behind them caught up. And then-

 The kid’s face split into a grin, and his eyes lit up, and when the realization that he was missing a part of his tooth hit him, he leaped up from the ground, arms to the sky.

 “Oh, that’s so cool!” He fist-pumped the air, a dull whistling sound floating through the new gap in his mouth. “Battle scars! Does it look like I won?” He turned to Yuu expectantly, a wide grin on his face and tongue poking through the hole.  

 “Sure, kid.”

 His victory wiggle almost made Yuu laugh, but it was held down by the clenching of his heart.  

  His brother used to do the same thing when he got a math problem right.

 Out of habit — because he couldn’t help himself (why must children always break his heart?) — he reached a hand down to the kid’s head and mussed his hair.

 “Would you like me to walk you home?”  

 “That would be awesome, Mister! And call me Suki, won’t you?” The kid pressed up into his hand for a moment, giving Yuu a pleased grin before snatching up his grocery bag. Yuu let him skip out of the alley ahead of him, an unbidden smile on his lips, before following in a leisurely stroll.

 It didn’t take long to figure out that the kid was a chatterbox. He was like a bird, all fluttering hands and chirping voice, flitting about across the sidewalk.

 “You were super cool back there, all ‘leave him alone’,” The kid’s voice dropped an octave to imitate Yuu, and he furrowed his eyebrows and crossed his arms in a childish attempt to appear intimidating, but broke out in a fit of giggles. He continued to ramble, hands fluttering. “Like Batman, that American superhero! Do you like comics? I loooove comics! They’re so colorful and…”

 Yuu let him ramble on, content as he was holding a conversation by himself, and allowed his own mind to wander. This little adventure had set him back further than he’d planned, and he would have to make up the walking time somehow. Not that he had any destination in mind, he just wanted to get as far away as possible. The police were a demon that would forever haunt him, but he would run while he could.

  Speak of the Devil-

 In the distance, the familiar wail of sirens pierced the air, growing closer by the second.  

  -and he shall appear.

 Yuu tensed as the sound grated on his ears, and he urged the kid to move faster. His constant backward glances were probably suspicious, but Suki wasn’t paying attention.  

 “We’re here!” Suki exclaimed suddenly, halting in front of a crumbling warehouse. Yuu hadn’t noticed as Suki led him down a weaving path in the industrial district, too focused on his own thoughts. Looking around now, Yuu had no idea where he was. The surrounding buildings all looked the same, and every one was abandoned. Yuu shifted his feet to widen his stance, all his senses on high alert. As Suki banged on the door, Yuu side-eyed it.

 The door swung open to reveal a young girl, a wrinkle on her brow and a bottom lip turned red from chewing. Her eyes caught on Suki first, the crease on her forehead smoothing, and she beckoned for him. He pranced into her arms, jumping to catch her around the neck in a hug. The girl seemed seconds away from weeping, and Yuu felt like he was intruding on something private. He shifted from one foot to the other, gravel crunching beneath his shoes.  

 It was enough for the girl to notice him.

 Her eyes widened, and her body tensed, the color in her cheeks draining. She tugged Suki behind her, squaring her shoulders in a mock of confidence. She was shaking — a poorly concealed shiver — white knuckles clenched around the doorknob, and she was glaring at him, as though she could somehow match him in a standoff.

 Suki looked confused, eyes darting between the two of them as if he didn’t understand how bad the situation looked.

 “Who are you?” The girl asked, voice steady for how terrified she seemed to be. “And what are you doing here?” Her breath came in quick gasps now, and Yuu recognized the telltale signs of an impending panic attack. He had an immediate instinct to comfort her, but was frozen with the realization that he was the problem. Why?

  Why was she afraid of him? What were these children doing in this warehouse? Why were they alone? Where were the adults, the supervision? Why-

 “Yumi-chan?” A weak voice called out from beyond the open door, shattering the odd tension. The girl glanced away from him and into the warehouse, catching her breath and steadying herself on the doorjamb. She whispered something that Yuu couldn’t hear, but it seemed to bring her relief.

 Another small child poked his head out, peaking beyond both Suki and the girl. His inky hair framed his pale cheeks, and his hands were delicate where they grasped onto the door. He scanned the situation quickly, gaze dancing over the two other people inside before he reached Yuu.

 But then he met Yuu’s eyes, and Yuu felt his soul get pulled right out of his chest.

 It was like staring into black holes. The purple of his iris’ was so deep it hardly reflected light at all, and it swirled with unknown depths. Yuu couldn’t fight the draw of being sucked in, and he couldn’t look away until the boy did so first. It felt like centuries since he’d been left stranded in space, torn apart again and again by an impossibility.

 Yuu hadn’t even noticed that he’d stopped breathing until he was gasping for air.

  The kid whispered something in Suki’s ear and then disappeared back inside, tugging the wrist of the girl with him. The instinctive urge to follow overwhelmed Yuu, and he took a stumbling step forward before catching himself.

 “‘Kichi says you can come in!” Suki exclaimed, not at all put off by whatever just happened. The kid rushed to grab Yuu by the arm and drag him inside, Yuu following in a trance. The door closed with a metallic clang.

 The inside of the warehouse was spacious, and it was one big, wide-open room. One corner had a collection of mattresses that had been shoved together, mismatched blankets tossed around and pillows piled high. The child with eyes like black holes was whispering to the girl from earlier, tucking her away under a few blankets and fluffing a few pillows. Another child — a very young girl — watched from the far corner of the mattress cove, eyes hovering just above a line of blankets. One look at Yuu had her diving beneath them, disappearing from view.

 The middle housed a coffee table and a lumpy couch, and a basket stuffed with books and games was off to the side. There was a discarded book on the couch, flipped over and held open to a page in the middle.

 On the far wall, there was a make-shift kitchen — if you could even call it that. It was little more than a camping stove, a mini-fridge, and a small faucet for water with a blue plastic bucket as a stand-in sink. Tucked into a corner were a stack of dishes and a pile of silverware. A young boy — taller than the rest of the children Yuu’d seen so far, but not nearly as tall as Yuu himself — was filling up a plastic cup at the tap. A curtain of rosy hair shielded his profile from view.

 Next to that, a drywall partition, shower curtain acting as the door. Suki, on a makeshift tour, excitedly explained that beyond it was the bathroom.

 Yuu couldn’t focus on anything the kid was saying anymore. He thinks, at one point, Suki had dragged him to the couch to show off his comic book collection, and that’s how he’d ended up sitting there. His hands were in his lap, shoulders stiff.

 The sirens were growing closer.

 And, by the sound of it, not stopping. They must have seen him walking with Suki, perhaps even assumed the worst. He couldn’t evade capture now.

  Shit.

 “Relax.”

 Yuu jolted from his seat, having been so focused on the door he didn’t notice the child coming up behind him (or perhaps it wouldn’t have mattered what he focused on: the child seemed to have a way with silence). He stumbled into the coffee table, catching himself on the low edge. It was futile to try to slow his racing heart.

 Yuu glanced up, just now noticing that Suki was no longer next to him on the couch. He knew who stood in front of him. There was a distinct weight to this gaze, and it rested heavily atop Yuu’s head. Upon being face-to-face, Yuu settled on the boy’s eyebrows, too afraid of what might happen should he meet the child’s gaze again.

 “We need to talk, Takeda Yuu.”

 Stuck. That’s what he was. Glued in place, just like he had been all those years ago. Fitting, that would be how this ends. At the hands of a child with the emptiness of death in his eyes, unable to do anything. A coward.

 The sirens were loud in his ears, closer than he could stand.

 There was a banging on the door, the thin, metal walls rattling with each impact.

 “Open up! We know you’re in there!” Muffled. Clear. Close. Too close. Help!

 The kid stared up at him with unblinking eyes, face neutral.

 “Did you do it?”

 Not even two years on the streets could have prepared Yuu to face this child. This creature. This overwhelming force of nature. He couldn’t fight the pull of endless eyes as shock struck him deep. They were mirrors this time — shiny, glassy things made of transparent water and a dark, starless sky. Reflections of Yuu’s regrets, of his pain.

 His siblings stared back at him, pale and hollow.

 His mother smiled, soft, empty.

 Yuu himself stood there, removed from his family. Half a meter shorter, fifteen kilograms lighter. That had been a long time ago.

 Yuu hadn’t realized he was crying until the child reached up and pressed his index finger to a tear, smooth nail digging a crescent into Yuu’s skin. Then the child turned and walked away.

 Yuu fixated on the child’s hands as delicate fingers curled around the doorknob and turned it, tugging it open. Outside was one man, and the lights of a cruiser flashed over his head.

 “Can I help you?” The child’s soft question went ignored as the officer scanned the room. Yuu felt his blood run cold as the man’s eyes settled on him and narrowed. He still couldn’t move. Saliva sealed his throat shut, tears burned his eyes. He could do nothing but stare.

 “Move aside, kid.” The officer looked ready to shove the child out of the way. “We’re here for Takeda Yuu.”

 The child looked the officer directly in the eye, and as he opened his mouth to speak, Yuu turned away, not wanting to watch as this kid turned him in without an ounce of remorse. His body was wracked with silent sobs, the tears he’d held in for years finally taking their chance to escape.

 “Takeda… Yuu? Who’s that?”

  What?

 “He’s standing behind you, kid. Move.”

  How could he know...? I haven't said a word...

 “But…this is Shinzou-kun.” 

 “He lied to you, now move!”

  Wait- No!

 Yuu watched in slow motion as the officer laid a hand on the boy’s shoulder, meaty fingers closing around the thin line of skin and bone beneath a baggy t-shirt, and Yuu could have sworn the temperature in the room dropped ten degrees.

 “I don’t think so, sir.”

  Cold. Everything was cold. The room. The officer’s stare. The child’s voice was beyond freezing. The humidity of mid-summer outside the warehouse was a faraway dream as this boy brought the wrath of winter like none other.  

 The boy wasn’t looking at the officer, head positioned to stare past him, but Yuu knew the man felt the overwhelming weight of his gaze. All of a sudden, the man reached with both hands for his throat, clawing at the buttons high on his collar. His eyes bugged out and his Adam’s apple bobbed under the skin of his neck. It wasn’t too hard to pick out the moment the officer began to choke on his own tongue, and he scrabbled for the doorframe. Distant shouts of confusion came from somewhere near the cruiser.

 “My daddy owns this warehouse-” Yuu still couldn’t see the boy’s face, but he could imagine it: stony, cut from marble, blank. He hadn’t moved a muscle since he answered the door. “-and I don’t see a warrant. And my daddy’s a big, bad lawyer who really enjoys punishing rule-breakers.”

 Before, the officer’s stare had burned Yuu’s skin. Now, it was like he couldn’t see him at all. The officer looked haunted and empty. Drained.

 The boy leaned in to whisper something inaudible in the officer’s ear, then placed a small hand on the man’s chest and pushed. It sent the man stumbling back, almost unable to stay on his feet, and the child slammed the door in his face. The child turned — face exactly as Yuu expected — and strolled back into the room, bee-lining for the taller kid with copper hair. The kid seemed to be waiting for him, arms crossed and face irked, and he leaned down as the child whispered something in his ear. With a nod, he headed for Yuu, and the small boy disappeared through a door on the far end of the warehouse Yuu had missed.

 “You’re lucky.” The kid’s voice was flat and bored as he approached. “Kokichi estimates you have at least thirty-six hours until they come back with a warrant.” Yuu didn’t feel lucky. He’d never been so freaked out by people shorter than him. This one didn’t quite have the same intensity as the child, but it was still unnerving. Even with him blowing his hair out of his eye every few seconds. “That means we have thirty-six hours to erase the identity of Takeda Yuu and build someone new entirely. You have two options. One: you walk out of this building now and run until the police find you. I’d give you…say, three months. Or two: from now until you’re a new man, you listen to everything we say unless you want to be left on the doorstep of the nearest station.”

 Yuu wasn’t stupid. He might have been breathless with the whiplash of the last hour, thrown from one bold personality to another, but he knew he had, truly, only one choice.

 “Option two, please.”

 “Consider it done.” The kid didn’t smile, but Yuu thought this was his close approximation, a smoothing of his scowling face. “Make yourself at home. And please, for my sanity, take a shower.”

 He turned to walk away, but at the last moment, he tossed his hair over his shoulder and peered back.

 “I’m Naiya Ren,” he said, “Welcome to DICE.”

  …What the fuck did I just get myself into?

  ~死~

 As you should know by now, the selection criteria for DICE is vague, yet specific.

 First, imagination. A picture of an ideal world, of color and hope. The ability to believe in the impossible.

 Second, conviction. A drive to fix, to change, to transform. To see something and want to make it better.

 Third, and finally, understanding. A grasp of reality. A grasp of pain. An inkling of the idea that a straightforward approach takes too long.

 (S/N) (G/N), in some odd way, fits all three.

 This wasn’t the predicted outcome.

 They were supposed to forget in time.

 An office job doesn’t make for a very exciting time in a world-dominating organization. The idea of DICE would have faded away, a silly belief that got them stuck under the hand of The Man. Maybe the kid and the visit were made up, too: a creation of hunger and drugs and pain alike.

 Aiko thinks so. She hasn’t seen Ouma since that day in the office.

 Though, for all that Ouma Kokichi can predict the courses of action a person may take, (S/N) (G/N) surprised him.

 Everyone who ends up on the street has a chip on their shoulder.

 But not (S/N) (G/N).

 Everyone that knows extreme, deep pain has a lust for revenge.

 But not (S/N) (G/N).

 And everyone who has met Ouma Kokichi desires things from him.

 Immunity.

 Wealth.

 Fame.

 But not (S/N) (G/N).

 Maybe, in the beginning, he knew what to expect. The greed in their eye at the promise of a place to stay, an income, was one he recognized. One he came to expect.

 It was a greed that usually lands people in an office job. DICE has many workers, many faculties. Someone has to man the phones.

 When that greed gave way to something else in the face of danger, however, Ouma Kokichi lost control for a moment. He felt helpless as the tides switched, the lights flipped on and blinded him. People who run headfirst into gunfire are rare. People who do so for total strangers even more so.

 (S/N0 (G/N) is a different breed entirely.

 Ouma Kokichi doesn’t like to be surprised.

 But maybe, just this once, he’ll allow it.

 (Though, the addition of another member was unexpected. DICE had been close-knit and whole for the last several years, finally stable enough to heal.

 For Kokichi to introduce an unknown factor is more than unexpected. Something had to have happened. Something big. Something massive. Something beyond the scale of human comprehension; Kokichi’s own comprehension, perhaps.

 A fourth criteria for DICE exists in all its unspoken glory, one that not even Kokichi can recognize at first glance.

 Unconditional compassion; buried deep. A slumbering dragon, this compassion: unknown in rest, unpredictable in wakefulness, and capable of a fire that razes cities.

 And maybe, just maybe, that’s where Kokichi saw himself.)

Available on AO3

[magical-beans]

Chapters: 5/? Fandom: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Oma Kokichi & Reader, Original Characters & Reader, Original Characters & Oma Kokichi, Other Relationship Tags to Be Added Characters: Reader, Oma Kokichi, Original Characters, Other Character Tags to Be Added Additional Tags: Eventual Oma Kokichi/Saihara Shuichi, dice - Freeform, Minor Violence, mentions of drug use, Child Abuse, Alternate Universe - Non-Despair (Dangan Ronpa), Other Tags to Be Added as Story Progresses, POV Second Person Summary:

In another world, you might have been a murderer.

At another time, you might have been six feet under.

But here and now, you are simply a high school student-to-be. Or are you?

~死~

Congratulations, (S/N) (G/N), you have been accepted into Hope's Peak Academy as the Super High School Level Bodyguard. We look forward to seeing you in the 80th class this upcoming year, and will patiently await your response.

- Kirigiri Jin (Headmaster of Hope's Peak Academy)

~死~

Bodyguard only just begins to cover it.

You are also second-in-command to a worldwide organization,

The best friend of one of Earth's most dangerous residents,

And a key member of an elite group only heard about in stories.

Of course, they only need to know about the bodyguard part.

~死~

(S/N): surname name (G/N): given name

[magical-beans]

Chapter 4: Meet the Deck of Cards (Danganronpa x Reader)

Two weeks.

 That’s how long you wait to meet DICE. The real DICE.

 You’re antsy. Your mind races with outcomes and scenarios, and you pace constantly, muscles tense with the same restlessness. Your stomach roils alongside the uneasy heat that settles under your ribs. It’s torture, this waiting, and you nearly wish you had stayed on the streets.

 At least the pot helps.

 The whole situation is throwing you off-kilter. You’re so far out of your depth, so disoriented by this war waging in your head. The anticipation and anxiety are foreign to you, long ago replaced by the thrill of competition and the eagerness of battle. You don’t know how to handle emotions like this.

 It occurs to you one night, lying wide awake in an unfamiliar bed, what this is.

 You’re scared. Absolutely terrified. And of what? A bunch of people who, sure, rule the underworld, but couldn’t overpower you even if they tried?

 No, that’s not it.

 You fear what they might do to your mind. How they might mess with your life.

 You fear their relationship to Ouma Kokichi, and what that means for their ability to manipulate people.

 After all, that’s what makes Ouma so dangerous.

 You aren’t stupid. It would have been impossible to become who you are today if you were.

 You know the sprint to the warehouse was more than a test of your physical prowess.

 You know he selects his words carefully to gauge your reactions, to test the waters of your personality.

 Ouma has the innate ability to slip inside someone’s head undetected, and from there he works his magic. He plays mind games; that’s his MO. He creates the most convoluted mazes through his actions and his lies, and he challenges every person he comes across. Ouma Kokichi pokes, and he prods, and he pushes, and then he uses what he knows to decimate people from the inside out.

 You don’t want to imagine a world where more than one of him exists. That is why DICE terrifies you so deeply.

 You try to keep up. Ouma allows you to listen in on a few phone calls, and you extrapolate conclusions on certain people based on his responses. Otherwise, you prompt Ouma into talking about them (he likely knows what you’re doing but indulges you anyway), and if both fail, you meditate. Maintaining a firm sense of self and center will hopefully thwart any attempts to twist your mind.

 You’d best prepare for the worst.

~ 死 ~

The DICE Penthouse in Japan is, in a word, home.

 People often forget that this district, now skyscrapers and high-rises, was once the backstreets and slums of Tokyo. DICE adopted it and gave it life.

 Once upon a time, before the first foundations of the penthouse building had ever been placed, there was an old, abandoned factory.  That factory was the first home of all ten DICE members. It was musty, and ridding the place of dust was an impossible war, but it was home. An old sectional, stuffing falling out of every other cushion.  A coffee table that was missing a leg.  Scattered, springy mattresses.  And an oven that only functioned seventy-five percent of the time.

 There was nowhere else in the world that Kokichi would have wished to begin his quest for world domination.

 As more funds poured in, buildings went up, and soon the area became a business hotspot.

 Kokichi commissioned a penthouse complex to be built directly on top of the factory, and the top floor penthouse was a custom build, made specifically to accommodate DICE. 

 The front entrance is on the far left of the penthouse, sectioned off by two racks — for shoes and slippers — on either side. Just past a small, half-wall to the right, a spiral staircase leads up to the next floor, and beyond that is the large kitchen. Straight ahead, massive picture windows span the entire outer wall, and a sitting area encompasses the space in front of them. On the left side of the sitting area, two couches face each other over an enormous coffee table, and the right houses a circle of cozy armchairs. Both short walls next to the windows are bookshelves filled to the brim with novels and games of all sorts.

 Beyond the primary room, a hall of doors stretches to the far right, each one leading to a bathroom or bedroom.

 Upstairs is the War Room — as dubbed by Ryuunosuke — or the game room supreme. Games and books line the walls once again, and floor pillows and blankets are stuffed in baskets around the room. A few beanbags are shoved under the table. The picture windows on this floor are split in two by a wall for a flat-screen TV.

 The rest of the bedrooms surround the War Room, sporadically placed with bathrooms nearby. Mirroring the first floor, there is a hall to the right, and at the end is a cove.

 The cove is the only room in the penthouse that guarantees peace (not even one’s own room is safe). If you’re in the cove, you get left alone; these are the rules of the house.

 The cove is a long, thin inlet stuffed to the brim with every comfort object one could ever imagine. The floor is covered with a thick rug, and the walls are painted pale blue. The room has more books, but fewer games: just a deck of cards and a bin of puzzles. A pile of plushies lies in one corner, and an overstuffed armchair sits in the other. Between the two is a long table, on it resting a few devices and a collection of fidget toys. On another table rests a salt lamp and an aromatherapy diffuser. Blackout curtains have been hung in the entrance to the cove and across the picture windows. They’re closed most of the time.

 The spiral staircase leads up one more floor to the open roof. Up here is the fun stuff: the pool and hot tub, the lounge chairs, the hammocks. To one side is a sheltered counter and cooking area. It’s a bar setup, and the counter seats eleven in one lengthy line. Lounge chairs and hammocks are arranged around a fire pit on the other side. The pool and hot tub — closed for the winter — are right smack in the middle. Cordoning off the outer edge of the roof are tall railings, and the view from here is the best in the penthouse.

 The evening following the Manic Machine-gun Massacre (Ah yes, the perfect title), Kokichi had taken (G/N) to the penthouse and directed them to the only unoccupied room in the house: the guest room at the end of the first-floor hall.

 Who knows why it’s there anyway because, in all their years of living in the penthouse, DICE has never had a guest.

 ~ 死 ~

 The first person to walk in the door is tall. Extremely tall.

 The guy also looks like he could crush a skull with his bare hands.

 His hair is wild: red and frizzy and gravity-defying. He’s in a sweatshirt and jeans, and he’s yawning into the back on his hand as he strolls in your direction. His russet brown eyes are exhausted, purple bags stark against his pale skin.

 Ouma had been sitting next to you but jumps out of his seat and takes a running leap the minute he spots the guy, latching around his midsection. The man isn’t the least bit startled.

 “Yuu-chan!” Ouma cheers, grinning up at his captive, and the man gives a small, tired smile.

 “Hey, Boss.”

 The man then peers up at you, and you freeze, staring him dead in the eye. You must look like a deer in headlights.

  God damn it.

 Instead of calling you out, though, the guy merely quirks the corner of his lips in greeting and saunters towards the couch across from you. When he sits down — not even bothering to pry Ouma off of him — he introduces himself.

 “I’m Shinzou Yuu. It’s nice to meet you.”

 His voice is deep and monotonous, almost bored, even, and he dips his head in a quick bow.

 Thank God you’ve gained control of your limbs by now.

 “I’m (S/N) (G/N). It’s nice to meet you, too.” You similarly dip your head and relax a bit. The guy seems normal, which is an enormous relief, but your gut says the worst has yet to come.

 Upon hearing your name, Shinzou halts his attempts at trying to set Ouma next to him and narrows his eyes at you, then looks back to the boy in his arms. Back at you, to your left arm (wrapped in bandages), and then back at Ouma.

 “You didn’t think to mention that we’d be meeting the (S/N) (G/N)? Really?” Shinzou says incredulously. Ouma just giggles.

 “Nishishi~ It was implied! They did save me from gunfire, you know!”

 This is strange. You rarely get this kind of recognition other than when you’re working a job, so maybe that accounts for the odd fluttering in your chest. It’s fuzzy, and your cheeks heat.

  Weird.

 Shinzou turns back to you and narrows his eyes in a scrutinizing manner.

 “Is it true that you can stop bullets with your bare hands?”

 “Umm, kinda?” You reply, averting your eyes. You raise a hand to scratch at the back of your neck.

 Ouma chooses that moment to detach himself from Shinzou and lean across the coffee table between the two couches, moving into your personal space. He grins, that awful, mischievous smile contorting his lips.

 “You know, (N/N)-chan, I hadn’t noticed this before, but you’re kinda gullible without your pot.”

 You scowl at him, choosing not to start a battle you know you’d lose. Ouma’s smile grows wider, and he’s about to speak again when a hand clasps the back of his baggy sweatshirt.

 Shinzou pulls Ouma back gently and plops him into a sitting position on the couch, shooting him an exasperated glance.

 “Really?” He dares Ouma to argue, raising his eyebrows. “You want to start a fight with them?”

 Ouma huffs and crosses his arms, turning his chin away with a pout and ignoring Shinzou’s question. Shinzou sighs and relaxes, facial expression directed towards you reading “I told you so”. 

 You can’t help the brief laugh that escapes you.

 Ouma whirls back around to stare at you, eyes wide in dismay.

 “(N/N)-chan! How could you betray me like this!? How could you support the abuse of such a small, helpless child like myself!?” Ouma’s eyes are wide with dismay, a hand clutched to his chest. “Completely and utterly evil, you are!”

 Shinzou looks ready to cuff him on the back of the head.

 “I didn’t come back home to listen to whine, you little shit,” Shinzou says, “I haven’t unpacked yet; I will walk out that door again.”

 “It’s fine.” you don’t allow Ouma to taunt Shinzou. “He’s right.”

 Ouma gapes at you with tears in his eyes, and seconds later he’s wailing.

 “(N/N)-chan! You do��understand!” He sniffles. “Save me from this abuser!”

 “Of course, Ouma-san. Animal abuse is cruel. I could never stand for that,” you say, and Ouma pauses, tears drying as he stares at you, silent. Shinzou brings a hand up to cover his mouth, coughing to hide his snickers. You take the silence as a chance to continue.

 “I can call the Humane Society, but they might end up sending the exterminators. Rats aren’t for everybody.”

 Shinzou can’t stop himself this time, and he breaks out into hysterical laughter, holding his gut as he rocks forward guffawing. Ouma appears like he’s about to laugh — his pursed lips tighten — but he opts to burst out in tears again.

 “I can’t believe you’d do this to me, (N/N)-chan!” He wails, “You stabbed me in the back to side with this traitor!? This evil, violent man!? How could I have ever thought you cared?!”

 Ouma stands up abruptly, wiping his face, and glares at you.

 There isn’t any heat behind it.

 “I’m going to bed now!” He declares, almost as if he hadn’t been crying moments ago. “When Emi-chan arrives tomorrow, she’ll protect me!” With that, he marches off down the hall.

 “No, she won’t!” Shinzou calls after him, and you laugh again, shooting the man a lopsided smile.

 He returns it.

 Shinzou then stands up, stretching his arms over his head with a groan.

 “I’m gonna head to bed, too. Jet lag, and all,” he says, tugging his shirt back down. “It was nice to meet you. You’re cool.”

 You nod your head. “You, too,” you reply, and you watch as he saunters down the hall.

 When Shinzou’s hulking frame disappears into a room, you breathe a sigh of relief.  For the first time in two weeks, the nausea dissipates, and your eyelids droop, a yawn bubbling to the surface.

 Thoughts of a good night’s rest make you smile.

 ~ 死 ~

 “Shhhh, Emi-chan. They’re still sleeping! Be careful!”

 “Sorry, sorry! The slime is ready. I’ll go get the bucket under the sink.”

 “M’kay! I’ve got everything else set up, so hurry!”

 “On it!”

 ~ 死 ~

 The sun is way over the horizon, and light seeps through your blinds when you finally awaken. You stretch and let your mind come into focus, analyzing one detail at a time.

 And then your gut twists, your chest constricts, and something is very, very wrong.

 The instinct makes you slow to get out of bed, roving your eyes over every nook and cranny for whatever is pricking at your instincts. 

 It makes you careful opening drawers and cautious pulling out clothing.

 You’re even careful enough to examine the door before leaving the room.

 It does not make you, though, able to escape being coated in something from above.

 A shocked screech escapes your lips, and you jump backward as something cold and wet trickles along your spine. Desperately grasping at your shirt, you try to wipe the sticky, neon pink slime off, but to no avail.

 You search frantically for the culprit, and you discover an upside-down bucket above you, now empty and dripping with the same pink substance. 

  Damn it! I never look up!

 Rambunctious laughter echoes from down the hall, and you spot Ouma — who is sporting a large t-shirt that doubles as a dress — and a girl.

 The girl is taller than Ouma, though not by much, and has wavy blonde-ish hair tied up in perfect twin tails. Laughter crinkles her eyes, but when she opens them, they shine a deep blue. She’s wearing strawberry-patterned shorts and a loose, graphic tee.

 The two of them continue to laugh at your predicament while you stand in shocked silence, putting together the pieces of what just happened.

 When it all clicks into place, you can’t help but laugh, too.

 Down the hall, Ouma and the girl freeze, watching you. You figure it’s confusing to them, that you’re finding it so amusing to be the brunt of their prank, and you laugh harder.

 “Whaaat? (N/N)-chan, did you hit your head or something?” Kokichi calls out.

 “I-yeah, I’m okay.” After a few more breaths, your laughter dies out. “I was trying to figure out what was making my instincts go haywire. I guess this explains it!”

 You grin, reaching a hand up to run through your soaked hair.

 “I’m glad,” you say, and the pranksters share a glance, utterly baffled. “I thought it was something dangerous.”

 Ouma and the girl just stare at you, jaws unhinged, eyes narrowed in disbelief before they break out in laughter once more. You give a few giggles of your own, then glance down at yourself. 

 Your clothes are ruined, soaked through and stained, and you need to shower again. You pick at your left sleeve, irritated by the idea of re-doing the bandages underneath. You purse your lips, amusement and relief dimming.

 Your head shoots up at the sound of footsteps, and in front of you stands the girl, hands clasped behind her back and a soft blush decorating her pale skin.

 “Hi!” she greets, shifting on her feet, “I’m Ojoou Emi.”

 You stand perfectly still as she approaches, and soon enough her face fills your vision. She’s shorter than you by several centimeters, but tall enough to reach your head.

 You don’t say a thing as she reaches up and grabs a strand of hair that has fallen in your face, tucking it behind your ear. She scrutinizes you for a second, then smiles, hair bouncing as she tilts her head to the side.

 “You’re pretty cute!” she exclaims, and the same warmth from yesterday returns with a vengeance. Your face is red hot, and as Ojoou giggles, the burning spreads to your ears.

 She grabs your wrist and pulls you down the hall in Ouma’s direction, dancing around the puddle of pink mush, and stops at one of the many doors. 

 You’re helpless to follow.

 As she reaches the doorknob, she turns to gaze at you and asks:

 “Is it okay if I wash your hair?”

 You blink. 

 Once. 

 Twice.

  What?

 You can hear Ouma’s stifled snickering.

 “Wash... my hair?”

 It’s been so long since someone has offered to do that.

 “Mm-hmm! What else, silly? You need it!”

 “I would love that.”

 You smile, wide and genuine, and count the powerful beats of your heart as it pounds out of your chest.

 Ojoou inhales sharply, gazing at you wide-eyed, before pulling you into the room.

 It’s her room, painted in soft pink and trimmed in white. The room of a princess, with all the gossamer draperies and fluffy pillows. Ojoou drags you further into the room to another door, and this one leads to a massive bathroom.

 White and clean and fragrant, and has the biggest fucking tub you’ve ever seen.

 You know Ojoou is laughing at your awed expression.

 “Well, I can’t wash your hair if you aren’t in the tub! Go on!” She encourages, shooing you in that direction.

 You strip, peeling off the clothes and dropping them on the floor with a wet splat. Ojoou stops fiddling with the many confusing dials on the tub to watch you unravel the bandage.

 She purses her lips but says nothing.

 ~ 死 ~

 There’s a war out in the hall.

 Kokichi knows he started it.

 No, he’s not cackling from his hiding place in one of the kitchen cabinets. Where did you get that idea?

 “I can’t believe you two dumped a bucket of slime on our guest. Why on Earth would you think that’s a good idea?”

 “It wasn’t us! I swear, Yuu!”

 That’s Ryuunosuke’s voice. The pair of them — Ryuu and Akihiko — had walked into the penthouse seconds before Yuu had walked out of his room. Between that and the incriminating puddle of slime outside (G/N)’s door, it was easy for Yuu to connect the dots. Albeit the wrong ones, but dots all the same.

 “What do you mean this wasn’t you? You’re the only ones here! How could it not be you!? Now clean this up.” Yuu still sounds tired after sleeping for twelve hours. His ability to maintain the fed-up older brother role is practically an art form at this point.

 “Have you considered that it might have been the boss? I definitely heard some laughter coming from the kitchen.”

 Shit! Akihiko threw him under the bus.

 Kokichi can just picture Yuu’s face now: mouth open, eyes narrowed, looking like he wants to refute that and say no, that’s impossible.

 But he can’t. Because that’s a total lie.

 It’s probably an excellent idea to get out of the cupboard now.

 Kokichi hears Yuu sigh, likely running a hand over his face and surveying the pair in front of him. It was a logical conclusion to come to, those two pranksters getting into trouble, but Yuu knows he can’t rule out other options. Yuu breathes in deep and yells:

 “KOKICHI!!!”

  Uh oh. Think fast!

 Kokichi tumbles gracelessly out of his hiding place into a heap on the floor. He groans and uses that to hide the thud of the closing cabinet door. Clutching his head, he watches through his fingers as his subordinates round the corner at lightning speed.

 “Boss!” Ryuu yells, rushing to his side. “Are you all right?”

 Kokichi groans again, rolling over, but doesn’t answer. It’s difficult to not snicker at Yuu’s “Oh geez”, but he holds it in.

 “Oh, it’s terrible,” Kokichi whines, pressing the back of his hand to his forehead, “I’m in so much pain! Get me to a hospital or I’ll die!”

 “Oh no!” Ryuunosuke sounds panicked. “Quick, someone call the ambulance!”

 Damn, he should get more credit for his acting.

 Kokichi has his eyes closed, but he swears he hears Akihiko stumbling for the phone.

 “He’s fine. You can knock it off, now.” Aw man, leave it to Yuu to spoil his fun.

 “Huh?” The stumbling stops, and Ryuu lifts his hands off Kokichi’s face.

 Kokichi giggles, sitting up and a-okay.

 “Yup! You got me, Yuu-chan! How’d’ya know?”

 “The scarf is new,” Yuu grumbles. “Where is Emi, anyway? You two will both have to be here when I rip you a new one.” Yuu scans the kitchen for another hiding spot that may hold Emi but doesn’t seem to find anything of interest.

 Kokichi casts innocent puppy eyes on Yuu. “For what?"

 It’s 0% effective.

 Yuu levels him with a glare, and Kokichi bursts out laughing.

 “So it was you!” Akihiko points an accusing finger at Kokichi, and he only laughs harder.

 “Man, how could you frame us like that? A Demon King shouldn’t bully his subordinates like this, you know,” Ryuu pouts.

 “You’re right. He shouldn’t.”

 (G/N) walks around the corner dressed in clean clothing this time. Their hair is fluffy and unevenly cut, courtesy of Emi, and their face has a healthy glow. They meet his eyes.

 They look healthy, Kokichi thinks, for the first time in a while.

 ~ 死 ~

 As you exit Emi’s room (She had made a face when you called her Ojoou-san) you can hear a squabble in the kitchen. Mostly playful yelling with some laughter mixed in, and two unfamiliar voices.

 One of the unknown voices says something along the lines of not bullying subordinates, most likely directed at Ouma, and you find yourself agreeing.

 “You’re right. He shouldn’t.”

 You round the corner to catch sight of Ouma laying on the floor, grinning. His eyes brighten when they lock with yours.

 Emi follows right after you, using your arm as leverage to spin around and skip into the kitchen. She steps on Ouma as she ransacks the cupboards, searching for God-knows-what. He grunts in pain.

 You reach down to help him up, nearly launching him into the air with force before you turn to the other three in the room.

 You ignore Ouma rubbing his shoulder.

 Shinzou is leaning on the counter, arms crossed, and a disappointed scowl on his lips. The other two are watching you with interested eyes.

 The first one, closest to Shinzou, has spiked his vibrant green hair up into a point, the gel failing at the ends where it droops. He has eyes to match and a grin that reveals crooked front teeth.

 The other stands straight, slate-gray hair pristinely combed and smoothed. His amber eyes sparkle with fascination, but his expression remains neutral.

 The green one can’t contain himself any longer and comes up to greet you.

 “Greetings, peasant!” He puffs up his chest. “I am the General of the Demon Army, and me and the prince have come to take you under our wing.”

 It’s amusing to hear these words from someone shorter than you.

 “The prince and I, Ryuu,” the blue one corrects, and “Ryuu” turns on him.

 “I’m more powerful than you, so you can’t fix my grammar!”

 “Oy, princesses,” Shinzou interrupts, “Introduce yourselves before you start a fight.”

 The two of them quit bickering to pout at Shinzou, puffed cheeks and all.

 Green crosses his arms and looks to the side.

 “I am not a princess!”

 “I am!” Emi shouts, slamming a cabinet door, “And I can rule the Demon Army better than you!”

 “That’s impossible! A princess can’t rule the Demon Army!”

 “Whaaaat?” Ouma interjects, “But didn’t Yuu just say you were a princess, Ryuu? Does that mean you can’t lead the Demon Army either? Oh well, looks like it’s all up to you, (N/N)-chan.”

 “Fine!” Green’s voice smothers all the other side chatter. “Princesses can lead the Demon Army, but the only one truly fit to lead it is Airi-chan.”

 “So you’re conceding?” Ouma tilts his head innocently.

 “Absolutely not, but Airi-chan is acceptable.”

 “Well, if you aren’t going to accept all princesses, then I’ll just have to fire you from your position as High Demon General,” Ouma says. “I, as Demon King, hereby revoke-”

 “Ugh!  Fine!  Even Emi can lead the Demon Army!”

 You shoot Ouma a quizzical glance.

 “I thought you weren’t supposed to bully your subordinates.”

 He sticks his tongue out at you.

 “Oh, that’s right!” Green yells suddenly, bouncing over to you as if just now reminded of your presence. “You need to begin your training to become a part of the royal family!”  

 He scrunches his face up, hand on his chin.

 “Where would you best fit in?” He mumbles to himself.

 “Oh! (N/N)-chan is already my personal guard!” Ouma says, leaning on your arm.

 “What about Yuu?” Green furrows his eyebrows.

 “He’s random buff guy number two.”

 “Thank, ‘Kichi. I appreciate that.”

 “You must be my top soldier, then!” Green’s face brightens, and he bows deep, hands tight to his sides. “Pleasure to meet you! I’m Suki Ryuunosuke, your general!  Hiko! C’mon, we have to educate our charge!”  

 Suki doesn’t give you a chance to return his greeting and marches out of the kitchen, head held high.

 “Clean up the slime first!” Yuu calls after him, and Suki groans, throwing his head back.

 “But that’s ‘Kichi’s mess!” Suki whines, sending big, pleading eyes Yuu’s way.

 “It is, but instead of those two cleaning it up, we are going to have words.” Shinzou glares at Kokichi and Emi, and their eyes widen comically. Kokichi scampers out of the room, and Emi isn’t far behind, swiftly shutting a drawer before following him out. Shinzou is hot on their tails. You stifle a chuckle into your hand.

 Blue comes up beside you, leaning into a graceful bow, one hand curled in front of him and the other tucked behind.  

 “Prince Osama Akihiko. I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.”

 You grin and then bow with the same flourish.  

 “(S/N) (G/N), your highness. It is an honor to serve you.”

 When you glance back up, you notice how his eyes sparkle with joy.

 “Come along!” He waves a hand, already prancing out of the kitchen. “Your training begins now!”

 ~ 死 ~

 You are in the middle of learning about food crimes with Osama and Suki when a very rotund guy stumbles through the door in the front hall.

 “I’m home!” He calls, his voice still full and booming despite being forced into the wall as he faces away.  When he whirls around, he meets your eyes over the couch.  He has heterochromia, you notice — right eye clear blue, left eye sunny yellow — and he’s wearing a red hat on his head; it says something in English you can’t quite make out.

 You’re jostled as Osama and Suki leap off the couch towards the guy, and suddenly he has his arms full of the two of them. They’re cheering while hugging him tightly, asking after souvenirs.

 “Well hello hello!” the guy joins in, squeezing the two smaller boys back. His eyes raise to meet yours again, and you stand to greet him, too. “It’s nice to meet you, Stranger!”

 “You too.” You say, shifting your weight between feet. You fidget with your hands. “Er, my name is (S/N) (G/N). Call me whatever you’d like.”

 The guy finally sets the two boys on the ground again, and they giggle, racing back to the couch. One of them — Osama — has stolen his hat to reveal his bald head. It’s shiny under the lights.

 The guy hums, stroking his chin in a mock of thoughtfulness, then snaps his fingers.

 “I’ve got it!” He declares suddenly, “How about Pizza Pal?”

 What the fuck?

 “Oh!” The guy exclaims, stirring you out of your confusion. “I’m Diira Tarou, by the way, but call me Tarou.” 

  Oooooh. That explains a lot.

 You must convey the understanding blatantly because Tarou laughs. Heat rises in your face again. What’s with that?

 “Pizza Pal?” Osama parrots, though Suki shushes him. You kinda really want to crawl back into bed to hide from all the embarrassment. You were hungry, okay? Is that a crime? Around here, apparently, it is.

 Tarou has moved over to the other couch, plopping down and dumping his backpack to the side. You sit down again, though awkwardly.

 “Oh! Food crimes! My favorite!”

 And that’s the end of it. You become increasingly disturbed by food crimes and what they entail as the three guys explain them to you.

 Though Tarou keeps stealing glances at you.

 You finally catch his eye, but he doesn’t look away.

 “What,” you ask, though the word is more of a demand than anything.

 “‘Kichi didn’t really starve you, did he? You’re awfully thin,” He answers, and you’re taken aback. Thin? Yes, you’ve had some bad eating habits in the past, but you’re still healthy!

 “Oh be quiet, Tarou. You say everyone is too thin.” Osama waves him off. “The only two who are underweight are Airi-chan and ‘Kichi.”

 “Mmm. I hope Airi-chan ate enough while we were away. Last time we split up, she hardly made it home!”

 The conversation is quite rudely interrupted by the sound of the door slamming closed.

 “We’re home~!” Comes Ouma’s singsong call, nearly as loud as Tarou’s entrance. Beside him is a young girl, brown hair sweeping the floor.  She hides behind Ouma, peeking out at the room as if searching for something.

 Her eyes land on you, and she freezes. Her irises are wide swirls of deep magenta, and she’s swimming in the gray, long-sleeve shirt she’s wearing. Around her neck is a scarf identical to the one around Ouma’s. When you meet her eyes, she immediately looks away, cowering further behind Ouma.

 You expect, for a moment, for the three others to jump up to say hello, but the room stays quiet. Tarou gets up alone and makes his way over to the door. Instead of saying something, he ruffles Ouma’s hair — to which Ouma bats his hand away playfully — and kneels down in front of the girl. She’s quick to wrap her arms around his neck.

 Tarou stands, whispering something into her ear that causes her to bury her face further into his shoulder. You can’t quite tell from your position, but you think she nods.

 Tarou carries the girl over to the couch and sits down with her still wrapped around him. Ouma plops down right next to him, face passive. He’s unnervingly silent. The girl slowly slides off Tarou until her feet are touching the floor, and then she stands and squishes herself into the non-existent space between Ouma and Tarou.

 “Hey there, Airi-chan,” Suki murmurs, and it throws you off guard. For someone so flamboyant — you’ve known him for three days and haven’t yet discovered a way to dial him down — it’s disconcerting to see him subdued.

 The girl’s only response is a whimper, staring at her feet while kicking them back and forth. Her lip quivers slightly.

 “(G/N)-chan-” and wow, doesn’t Tarou sound serious. Ouma has yet to say a word. “-this is Damasu Airi. Airi-chan, this is (S/N) (G/N). We call them (N/N)-chan.”

 The room is silent for a few moments. Damasu sniffles, bringing a hand up to her face to wipe at her nose, and it occurs to you to say something.

 “Hi,” you say as softly as you can. It’s better than your attempt with Ouma in the office, but still not great. “Your eyes are very pretty.”

 Unfortunately, your words do not match your posture. You’re stiff as a board, spine rigid, hands gripping your knees.

  Shit. I’m not prepared to deal with scared, adorable children.

 You nearly miss it, with your fretting about how you’re presenting yourself, but the girl whispers something.

 “Thank you. I like your eyes, too.”

 You wonder how someone so quiet could fit in with a group so rowdy.  

 You smile as gently as possible at her, thanking her in kind. She slowly worms her way out of her spot between Ouma and Tarou and rounds the coffee table.  

  What’s she doing?

 Everyone sitting around the couches holds their breath when Damasu stops directly in front of you.

 She wraps her thin arms around your middle, squeezing with shocking strength, and you blink in surprise. You lay your arms across her back, but don’t do no more out of fear of crushing her.

 She’s so small.

 You feel a vibration in your chest, and it takes you a moment to realize she’s saying something.

 “I’m sorry,” you lean down to her head level, “Could you say that again? I missed it.”

 She doesn’t move, but says something directly into your shirt.

 “I’m Airi. Please take care of me.”

 It takes the literal hand of God for you not to crush her in a hug then and there, and you have to resist the urge to cry happy tears.

  God fucking damn it. I will never survive this child’s adorableness.

 ~ 死 ~

 Ouma has saddled you with taking out the trash, which somehow entails dragging it all the way to the first floor and to the dumpster outside. You think it’s absurd for such a nice penthouse, plus you’re certain you saw Tarou dump it somewhere in the hall a few days ago, but you do it anyway.

 As you round the corner, bag of trash held out as far as possible, you notice a presence leaning against the wall next to the dumpster. Taller than you, and a little menacing, but they don’t concern you. Frankly, it seems like a cliché scare tactic. You move around him and throw the bag into the overflowing bin.

 You’re moving to leave when he finally speaks.

 “Did you really stop a guy with a gun?”

 Ah, so he must be from DICE. Ouma did enjoy regaling his subordinates (Read: Family) with the story of the shootout.

 “I did,” you say, pausing at the entrance of the alley, “No big deal. Just doing my job.”

 He approaches you from behind, though keeps his distance.

 “Do you have a stick up your ass?”

 You splutter at the question, choking on your own saliva.

  Geez, how many “What the fuck” moments am I going to have?

 “I hope not,” you reply, wide-eyed. “The chairs upstairs are comfy.”

 The guy chuckles into his hand as he comes up beside you but swiftly stops himself, scowling at his palm as if chastising it. In the light, his hair is white-blond and gelled in every different direction. His hazel eyes — emerald green rimmed in honey brown — shine in the sun, and his tan skin radiates heat that seeps into your arm even from a foot away. 

 “I’m (S/N) (G/N),” You bow your head. “It’s nice to meet you. Are you a part of Ouma’s family?”

 The guy chuckles again, this time not bothering to smother it, and nods his head in return.

 “Karabu Nobutoshi. It’s nice to have more people who can see through Kokichi’s bullshit.”

 “Yeah. I’ve gotta say, I thought the rest of you would be better at it.”  You shake your head at thoughts of Suki and Osama getting caught up in Ouma’s ridiculous antics.

 Karabu sighs, and you sense he knows exactly who you’re thinking of when he mutters, “Those two…”

 A sudden chill brushes down the alley, and you’re reminded that Japan in the winter is not warm and that you aren’t wearing more than a sweatshirt and some leggings.  You shiver, then glance over at Karabu, who is wearing a t-shirt and jeans, and wonder how?

 The mystery only deepens when he grins.

 Karabu leads you back to the door but pauses just before he opens it.

 “Oh, one more thing before we head up,” He says, face neutral once more.

 “Hmm?”  You aren’t really paying attention, focused on warmth and getting back inside.  You pull your hands into your sleeves and curl into your torso.

 “Has Tarou been taking his insulin?” Karabu’s eyes bore into you, unblinking.

 “His what?” You have no idea what he’s talking about.  The lobby looks really nice right about now.

 “You know, the little white tablets. He’s supposed to take them before every meal.”  He’s insisting, now, hand still firmly grasped around the door handle and very much in your way.

 “Uhhhhh…” You blink at him, ransacking your brain.  “Nope. No white tablets.”

 “Shit!”

 ~ 死 ~

 “Was it too much to expect a clean house when I arrived?” the girl that steps in the door forgoes a traditional greeting, lilac bob swishing around her shoulders as she slips off her shoes and coat. She wears a thick, cashmere, knit sweater with sleeves that hang past her hands and dark leggings. She shivers briefly, hugging her arms to her chest. “And some warm weather? I miss Argentina already.”

 “Hey, Mayumi!” Tarou calls from the kitchen, eating straight out of a carton of vanilla ice cream. Nobutoshi is trying and failing to snatch the spoon out of his hand.

 “Hey, Sweets. So glad you’re eating well.” Mayumi steps into her slippers.

 “Not helping, ‘Yumi!” Nobutoshi says through grit teeth, finally grasping Tarou’s wrist. “Take your insulin first, God damn it!”

 “Say, where’s our guest? I was hoping to introduce myself.”

 “Upstairs, I think,” Tarou says, a new spoon — pulled out of nowhere — stuffed in his mouth. Karabu is yelling in frustration. “They’re famous!”

 “Oh?” She makes her way to the stairs, foot on the first step. “I’ll make sure to give them a warm welcome, then.”

 The struggle in the kitchen continues as Mayumi ascends the stairs, but at the last second she leans down with a smirk and says:

 “Take it easy on him, Toshi. He’s only a boy.”

 Tarou’s triumphant shout and Nobutoshi’s frustrated groan make Mayumi grin as she steps onto the next floor.

 ~ 死 ~

 The DICE rendition of Chutes and Ladders is far more trouble than it’s worth.  

 “Oh come on! There is no way that’s fair!”

 You got lost about half an hour ago. That was about when the game started.

 Turns out, when all rules are up for debate, there really are no rules.

 You don’t follow.

 Thus, you are content to figure out what the hell is going on as Ouma tries to move up a chute.

 “Of course it’s fair! See!? I have a get out a jail free card!” Kokichi declares, pulling out a worn, orange card with a question mark on the back.

 Yeah, there is no way you’re catching up anytime soon.  

 “No! We said you couldn’t use those last time! You know, Ren Vs. Community Chest!”

 “Exactly.” The word comes from behind you, savory and smooth. “Community Chest. Chance cards are still free reign.”

 You twist in your seat to meet violet irises. A few shades lighter than Kokichi’s, they pin you in place.

 “Ippanjin Mayumi, Dear.” She says, and her cat-like eyes narrow teasingly. “A pleasure to meet you. I hear you’re famous?”

 “(S/N) (G/N).” You manage to spit out. “And, uh, I guess?”

 Her eyebrows raise and her lips part ever so slightly, conveying her surprise. She lifts her gaze to somewhere above your head before settling down next to you.

 Osama deals her five cards.

 “Well, Darling,” Ippanjin shoots you a glance from the corner of her eye, “You won’t last long here if you don’t learn how to keep up. Pay attention, now.”

 You blink at the nickname and then laugh.

 “Yeah, I’ll try my best.”

 ~ 死 ~

 By the third round of the game, you have your own cards and are debating with Suki about the plausibility of using the Doctor occupation card from LIFE to move the exact number of squares to the end. It’s all nonsensical, and you are having the time of your life. 

 You don’t notice Ippanjin lean over until she’s already whispering in your ear.

 “Just because you’re famous doesn’t mean you won’t be receiving the shovel talk.”

 You don’t know what that means, but by the shivers the words send down your spine, it’s nothing good.

  ~ 死 ~

 It’s not, and you hope to all that is holy that you never have to face Ippanjin’s wrath.

 ~ 死 ~

 You’re up early the next morning, the sun still slumbering, and a bubble of anticipation bounces around your stomach that makes it impossible to sleep. You creep into the kitchen to find some tea, hoping to relax.

 There is a figure sitting at the island, steaming mug in hand.

 Not threatening, your gut says, the anticipation swirling into apprehension, but dangerous. Tread carefully.

 You monitor them as you shuffle around the kitchen. They don’t seem concerned with your presence, rather like they were expecting you. Their gaze shifts lazily between their mug and your movements, sandy hair streaked with soft red falling into their face.

 When you reach for a mug, the stranger speaks up.

 “The water in the kettle is still hot. Help yourself.”

 The voice is distinctly male and holds a very calming effect despite the situation. You find it easy to relax.

 There is one more member you have yet to meet, you know, and you believe this is him.

 Naiya Ren. The others talk about him constantly; he’s some of the only damage control they have and is basically Ouma’s common sense filter.

 You slip into the stool two away from him, clutching your wide mug with both hands.

 The two of you sit in silence for a few precious moments, drinking in the night’s serenity.

 “Ah, I’ve got it,” Naiya says out of the blue, but his voice doesn’t startle you. “(S/N) (G/N).”

 Maybe it’s the unfamiliar energy of the early morning or Naiya’s strange aura, but you are nothing but calm as your name leaves the lips of someone you’ve never given it to. Instead, you hum in affirmation and swish around a mouthful of tea.

 “For such an astute bodyguard, I thought you might at least be concerned about finding a stranger sitting in your kitchen.” His narrowed eyes train on you now, and though it’s dark, you can see them glint deep red.

 You meet them.

 “Whoever said you were a stranger? Naiya Ren, I assume?”

 For a split second, his eyes sharpen, red flashing, and a burning in your chest flares to life, demanding you stand and defend yourself.  

 It’s gone within the second, but it leaves you tense as he scowls and stands, heading for the stairs.

 “Never assume,” he growls back to you, and then he disappears to the second floor.

 Ren’s cup of tea is left abandoned on the counter, still steaming.

 You can’t shake the feeling that all of this was planned.

 ~ 死 ~

 You fail to go back to sleep.

 Instead, you pace the kitchen and sitting room, half-empty, luke-warm tea in hand, and mull over the events of earlier.

 You’ve known from the beginning that Naiya would be the toughest person to convince to let you stay. He has been with Ouma the longest, if the rest of DICE has been telling the truth, and is the second most responsible for making DICE a reality.

 You understand that you are the intruder in this situation. You understand that his reaction is reasonable.

 That doesn’t stop him from frustrating you.

 Everything until this point has been so easy.  Everyone has been so accepting and kind, and you think if you had some time, you’d fit right in.  

 As if you’ve been there from the beginning.

 “You’ll wear a hole into the floor if you keep that up, (N/N)-chan.“

 With all your furious pacing, you missed the presence sneaking into the room.

 Your mug slips out of your hands and shatters on the floor, tea soaking into the rug below you.

 Ouma Kokichi perches on a kitchen stool, a smirk on his face and an unreadable twinkle in his eyes.

 “Wow, I can’t believe I startled the famous bodyguard! I must be super sneaky.”

 He’s lying. You’re not sure how you can tell — you think it has something to do with his words misaligning with his expression — but you know he’s lying.  

  The bastard’s not surprised at all.

 You narrow your eyes at him, but you don’t indulge him in a reply. Instead, you head towards the closet Suki grabbed the cleaning supplies out of the other day.

 “Cleaning supplies!?” Ouma slips off his stool and follows you, hands behind his head. “The elite bodyguard shouldn’t have to clean up messes, especially when they’re a guest!”

 His smirk is growing wider. The word “guest” rubs you the wrong way. As if you don’t belong. Perhaps you don’t.  

 It takes you a moment to realize what he’s trying to do.

  Ah, he’s attempting to get under my skin.

 “What kind of bodyguard would I be if I left this all over the place for someone to step on?” You dodge his attempts at getting a rise out of you, but try to play along as best you can.

 “Man, you’re such an awesome bodyguard. I hadn’t even thought of that!”

 This time, you notice him approach you. You’re digging around for the dustpan when he speaks again.

 “Ren get on your nerves, did he?”

 You freeze.

  How does he know?

 You can’t see him, but Ouma must be wearing a self-satisfied grin as he backs off. He knows he’s right.

 “What’s wrong, (N/N)-chan? Can’t you just, I don’t know, take him out with your fists? Maybe break his arms like you did with that guy the other day? That was brutal!”

 You have to try very hard not to disintegrate the handle of the dustpan in your grip. You grab at the broom aggressively and stalk back to the mess you made.

 “I don’t like to hurt people.”

 It’s shameful that you mutter those words. You stare intently at your feet as you sweep up the ceramic shards.

 “What was that?”

 If only Ouma didn’t enjoy picking people apart so much.

 “I said-!” you nearly yell, and cringe at the silence that follows. “I don’t like to hurt people. It’s an adrenaline thing. And the byproduct of…”

 You’d rather not say. You press your lips together tightly and return to sweeping. You wait for a question, a prod, a statement, something, but it never comes.

 Ouma doesn’t push this time.  

 He grabs a fluffy blanket from a basket in the sitting room and wraps it around his shoulders instead, sweeping his way back to his stool.  The blanket flows behind him like a cape as he moves, and you can’t resist cracking a slight smile.

 “Tea?” You ask while tipping the dustpan into the garbage. You’ll clean the stain later.

 “Dunno, (N/N)-chan. The tea you make must be pretty bad if you dropped the last cup.”

 You chuckle.

 “Then how about I boil water and you can make it yourself?”

 “Nah. Too much effort.”

 You hide a smile in your mug when he gets up to pour himself a glass.

 ~ 死 ~

 You and Ouma pass playful banter back and forth well into the morning. The two of you still sit at the counter as Airi makes her way downstairs, followed by Ryuu, and then Karabu, who is still wiping sleep from his eyes.

 After coffee, Karabu makes pancakes, and he tasks you with keeping Ouma away from the salt. Or any ingredient, really, because the little shit will not waste an opportunity to mess with the batter.

 Slowly but surely, everyone makes their way into the kitchen as the smell of breakfast wafts through the penthouse.

 Ren almost goes unnoticed in the morning chatter, but Tarou is kind enough to point him out.

 You tense upon hearing his name and avoid eye contact as much as possible. It’s pathetic, you know, but you can’t help it: you don’t enjoy screwing up.

 If anybody notices your awkward silence (cough cough Kokichi cough) they don’t say anything.

 The day continues like normal. You laugh and play games with Ryuu and Akihiko, and Naiya does who knows what. When lunch comes, you sense a few questioning gazes when you pointedly avoid Naiya, but no one acts on them.

 You know it won’t last, but you can sure try.

 It all comes to head that evening when the sun is setting and its red light shines directly through the sitting room window. You’re on the couch, and Naiya steps into the room, eyes on you.

 “I have a proposal,” Naiya announces, and everyone, including you, turns to him expectantly.

 “If you beat me in chess,” He points an accusing finger your way.  “you can stay.”

 The whole room freezes.  Even Ouma is staring, eyes swirling with emotion you can’t place.

 You don’t particularly care.

 Chess? Sure, why not.

 You stare Ren in the eye, tilt your head, and quirk your lips. 

  Afraid? No way.

 “Challenge accepted.”

 At your words, the room bursts into chaos.

 “You can’t do that, (N/N)-chan! You can’t win against him!” Suki admonishes you before he turns and pulls a distressed face at Osama. 

“Our charge will die before we can teach them anything! We have to do something!”

 Emi is whispering to Ouma, though none too quietly.

 “You know, I thought you said they weren’t dumb. And I was just starting to like them, too!”

 Ouma doesn’t respond, just staring at you blankly. Surprised, you realize, and it’s satisfying to be able to read him just a little.

 Naiya is surprised, too, now that you look back at him, though more noticeably.

 “No fight? That’s it?” He asks, narrowing his eyes a little. You shrug.

 “I figure that if I say no, you’ll kick me out, and I don’t mind playing chess.”

 “Well, at least they know how to play chess,” Akihiko mutters. “They might not make a fool out of themself. But win? Impossible. Utterly impossible.”

 ~ 死 ~

 The game is so quiet it’s uncomfortable. You’re seated across from Naiya on the couches in the sitting room, and the chessboard is on the coffee table. The rest of DICE piles onto the couches and squishes around the table on the floor.

 Ouma has had his hand slapped away from the board several times already.

 The two of you are rather far into the game, and Naiya appears frustrated. He clearly wasn’t expecting you to last this long, but it’s not looking good.

 You’re missing a lot of your pieces, and a loss is staring you in the face.

 It’s so hard not to smile. 

  This is right where I want to be.

 “Check.” Naiya declares as he moves his bishop, though without luster, and leans back into the couch.

 You play with your fingers while pretending to analyze the board, leaning in to shuffle your rook into position to shield your king. Looking up, you fix Naiya with a blank, curious stare before slowly settling back down into the cushions.

 You watch as his eyes flicker over the board and widen as he realizes what has just happened. A self-satisfied smirk crosses your face, and you see Ouma scrunch his face up to stuff his laughter.

 “Checkmate.”

 Naiya bolts upright, eyes wild, and he’s franticly checking the game for a mistake. You don’t resist the urge to laugh as the people surrounding you rush forward, too. You tilt your head to glance at Ouma and catch him peering back. His face is neutral, lips pursed, but his eyes sparkle with excitement. You smile at him, a close-lipped, crinkle-nosed, crescent-eyed ordeal.

 Finally, the clammer and chaos of the group are too much to ignore, and you turn back to find three faces in your personal space.

 “How did you do it, (N/N)-chan? The only other person to beat Ren-chan is ‘Kichi, and no one can beat ‘Kichi!”

 “Well done, soldier! You’ll learn quickly under our tutelage!”

 “So cool! You can be the lieutenant of the Demon Army!“

 “Quiet down. All of you!“

 Immediate silence ripples through the room at the boom of Naiya’s authoritative voice, and he stares you in the eye. You stay like that for a moment, just staring at each other, before he turns away, heading toward the stairs. As he leaves, he calls out behind him one word, and the looks of shock on other’s faces makes it all worth it.

 “Impressive.“

 ~ 死 ~

 Ren is so lost in thought he doesn’t even notice Kokichi slip into his room and settle beside him until the mattress dips slightly. Even so, he doesn’t move.

 Kokichi waits until Ren decides to speak.

 It takes time. The loss surprised him, disappointed him. (G/N) is not who he thought they were.

 “I wasn’t expecting someone like (S/N) (G/N) to use a tactic like that. Maybe something bolder for an equally fearless individual, but not that.”

 Kokichi merely hums, expecting him to continue.

 People’s personalities are reflected in how they play chess. If you’re shy, you second guess yourself and play timid.  If you’re confident, you play bold and obvious. If you’re curious, you play all over the place, testing your opponent.

 There are only two people who are an exception to this rule.

 Kokichi, who can construct and act upon any personality he wishes, whose brain runs a mile a minute, who’s the smartest person in the room at any given time. That much makes sense.

 And now (S/N) (G/N).

 Ren doesn’t understand them.

 He might never.

 Ren sighs, sitting up and running his hands over his face. Kokichi takes this opportunity to sprawl himself further across Ren’s bed.

 “Playing to lose.” Ren says finally, “To make your opponent underestimate you. To make them think they have it in the bag before you snatch it from them.” Ren whirls to face Kokichi. “Who plays like that!?”

 Kokichi is clearly amused. His eyes twinkle and his lips twitch as he meets Ren’s eyes.

 “People like me,” Kokichi says simply, as if that’s all the explanation needed.

 Ren takes a moment to let that soak in. 

  Another like Kokichi, huh?

 Ren likes rules. Always has, always will. They keep order and peace and lots of people from getting hurt.

 He has rules for himself, ones that dictate his routines and actions. His morals.

 He has rules for his family.

 No orange nerf bullets.

 No pranks after ten pm.

 No more pain.

 Ren doesn’t understand why he’s so drawn to Kokichi: a troublemaker of epic proportions.

 Kokichi’s favorite activity is to break Ren’s rules.

 Ren loves him for it with fond exasperation.

 (S/N) (G/N) breaks his rules, too.

 He can’t bring himself to hate them.

 “I’ve always wondered, Kokichi,” Ren says, tilting his head towards the ceiling, “if you would find your Ace.“

 Kokichi laughs, soft huffs of breath, and stands to make his way to the door.

 “Ace. Finally, a royal flush.”

 The door clicks softly closed behind him.

~ 死 ~

Uhhhh, I have no excuses?  Basically, I hope you enjoyed.  I loved writing this chapter, and plan on doing my best to get the next one out.  This fic really just drags me all over the place because I have no idea where I’m going.  The only other thing to note is that this fic is cross posted on AO3 if  you prefer to read there.  I plan on posting a link soon.  Take care!

[magical-beans]

No Update This Week!

It’s exactly as the title says.  I figure that if I’m going to be writing around 10,000 words per chapter, I should give myself a little more time.  i’m going to be moving updates on my Danganronpa x Reader fic to every two weeks on Fridays.  Sorry about the delay, but it’s probably better I give you a complete chapter than some mumbo jumbo.

[magical-beans]

Today marks the first day of Pride 2020.

It also marks the seventh day of protests held in honor of George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, and Ahmaud Arbery. It’s been 634 days since Botham Jean was murdered by a police officer, 233 days since Atatiana Jefferson was fatally shot by a police officer, 2,123 days since Michael Brown was fatally shot by a police officer, and 2,146 days since Eric Garner was choked to death by a police officer. 

It has been five days since Tony McDade, a Black trans man from Florida, was shot and killed by a police officer.  

At the time of this post, it has been almost 19 hours since David McAtee was shot and killed by the authorities. 

This week has served as a stark reminder that those who have power in this country wield it recklessly and violently against Black people, non-Black POC, and trans people. For some, the power is found in their badge. In others, it’s their skin tone, their socio-economic status, their cisgender privileges, or any other number of privileges one can have. In 2018, with at least 26 trans people who were murdered, all but one were trans women, and all but one were people of color. According to data collected by Human Rights Campaign, this pattern is all too common. It should also be noted that the number of trans people who are murdered is grossly underreported, with many families and newspapers often misgendering those who can no longer speak up for themselves. 

On June 28, 1969, the Stonewall riots began as a response to the constant police raids of nightlife establishments frequented by the LGBTQIA+ community. That night sparked a revolution, with many eye-witnesses crediting Black and Latinx trans women for being brave enough to ignite what would become one of the most pivotal nights in LGBTQIA+ history. Without Marsha P. Johnson and Sylvia Rivera, there would have been no uprising. Without them, there would be no Pride. 

At this moment, it would be tone-deaf and insensitive to commemorate Pride in the same celebratory fashion we usually do. Instead, we’re asking you to make the commitment to better the lives of the oppressed. Do the work to become actively anti-racist if you are not Black. Spread the word that Black lives matter. Spread the word that trans people deserve to feel safe wherever they go. Reblog this post, make your own, or find someone in your life who doesn’t understand and do your best to make them understand. Donate if you can. 

The first Pride was a riot. We stand with you.

[magical-beans]

POLICE FILES - CASE NOTES:

All profiles subject to change.

(This goes hand in hand with my Danganronpa x Reader fic.  I thought it might be fun to write these up and give readers a little bit of reference to each DICE member.  These are what’s ‘on file’ four years before Kokichi enters Hope’s Peak Academy, and he has some growing to do, so yes, for some characters, these numbers are a little off.)

[magical-beans]

Chapter 3: The Suicide Squad (Danganronpa x Reader)

(The chapter title is a movie reference only.)

(G/N) = Given Name

(N/N) = Nickname

Possible trigger warnings: mentions of guns, panic attack (nothing graphic)

~死~

Not long after the Office Incident -- merely what Kokichi is calling it now as a short term solution.  He needs a better name than that to retell his much more enthused, dramatic version of the story -- Kokichi called an official DICE meeting.

To be honest, the call was kind of a shock to the other nine members.  They don't often get together anymore now that business is booming, and someone has to supervise.  The only time they really see each other is for heists, and those are only after throwing around several ideas about the next location.  The only things filling their text thread currently are awful memes and check-ins.

It was even more of a shock to discover why he'd called.

~死~

Hearts — Shinzou Yuu — is monitoring the Chinese base of operations when he receives the call from Kokichi.

"What's up, Boss?"

The call isn't necessarily unusual: Kokichi often likes to call Yuu and complain, lamenting about this and that. Yuu's used to it by now.

"Shi-chaaan! You have to help me! I'm traumatized! Someone attacked me with a big, bad gun, and it was sooo scary!"

This should be alarming.

It's not.

It might have been if his voice wasn't whiny and drawn out — if he attempted to be serious for once: but he hadn't. Things don't scare Ouma Kokichi. Not anymore, at least.

Yuu sighs, prepping himself to deal with the worst of Kokichi's dramatics.

There is an odd shuffling sound, and Kokichi's mocking laughter follows. It spills through the speaker on Yuu's end, muffled, as though Kokichi has pulled away from his phone. Yuu thinks nothing of it.

"That's horrible, Boss." Yuu humors him with his words, but his tone is monotonous. Thankfully, that's all it takes to avoid Kokichi's obnoxious crocodile tears. "You aren't hurt, are you?"

"Hurt!? Of course not! I'm the Great Supreme Leader of DICE! I have people who would become my human shield if I so much as lifted a finger!"

This is true, but they both don't like to think about it.

The laughter rings out again on Kokichi's end, muffled once more and followed by a playful "Shut up, (N/N)-chan!" Now that is odd.

"Boss, you got someone tied up on your side?"

"Yup yup! That's actually why I called! I got myself a professional human shield! They're awfully grumpy, though, so I might have to kill them before they can do their job!"

His voice is still playful, but this isn't a laughing matter. There hasn't been a case in the last four years of Kokichi finding an orphan interesting enough to introduce to his closest friends. The innermost group of DICE — the heart of it all — is exclusive. They had built DICE from the ground up, and that's special in their hearts. To have someone join that...an outsider, well...

Yuu breathes in deep, closing his eyes momentarily, then sighs. If Kokichi wants to meddle, it's not his problem.

There is a reason Kokichi had called Yuu first.

"I'd love to meet them, Boss," Yuu says, and he knows his voice sounds tired. "Be careful. We trust your judgment, but some of us can be hardheaded."

"Thanks, Shi-chan. When you wrap up business in China, head on back, 'kay?"

Kokichi's voice is softer now, more fond.

Yuu smiles slightly. This new person must really be something special.

~死~

"Hey, Love, what's hangin'?"

Jack — Ippanjin Mayumi — has picked up the phone in Argentina, her syrupy sweet drawl traveling smoothly through the long-distance connection. She traps her phone between her ear and shoulder before continuing to paint her nails.

"Nishi~ Yumi-chan, there's someone I'd like you to meet!" Kokichi giggles.

Mayumi grins. Two can play that game. And she would admit, she is a little curious.

"A romantic partner, Dear? Don't you think it's too early for them to meet your parents? You should know better than to move too fast." Stepping into the role of Mom isn't so hard: playing it for four years will do that to you.  

Kokichi giggles some more and then drops his voice into something akin to earnest.

"They might be the one, Mom."

Mayumi stills, nearly smudging the deep purple on her nails.

"Oh?" She tries carefully, concealing any emotion in her voice. "Is that so?"

"Could you come back to meet them, Yumi-chan? I think you'll like them."

He sounds a little nervous. He must have known this would be a tough call. Adopting is cool and all, but it is also a big decision. Mayumi isn't sure how she feels about adding another person to their tight-knit group. Kokichi seems certain, though. That should be enough.

Mayumi sighs into the phone, resuming her nail painting.

"All right, then. See you in a few weeks, Love."

~死~

King and Spades — Osama Akihiko and Suki Ryuunosuke respectively — race for the phone when it goes off. There's a flurry of limbs and blows, each one trying to hinder the other from reaching it first.

The phone is on its last ring when Ryuunosuke reaches out to grab it and answer triumphantly, Akihiko sprawled on the floor with a pout.

"Heya, Boss! This is Super Evil Demon Number One speaking, how can I help you?"

"Hey, how come you're number one?" Akihiko whines petulantly from his spot on the floor, and Ryuu sticks his tongue out at him.

"'Cause I got here first, Dumbass!"

Kokichi giggles at their banter.

"Well, my loyal servant," Kokichi begins, a haughty tone possessing his voice, "I need to speak with your lesser demon as well."

Ryuu grins. "Lesser Demon indeed!" He says into the phone before turning to Akihiko. "Get up, Hiko. Kichi wants to talk to you, too."

Akihiko sniffles a bit before getting up, wiping his nose, and Ryuunosuke puts the phone on speaker.

"Hey, Kokichi," Akihiko sighs into the phone, the dejectedness palpable.

"That's no way for a prince of Hell to be speaking, now, is it? Be proud of the havoc you wreak!"

Akihiko sniffles again, but this time it's followed by a smile.

Ryuunosuke frowns.

"Why is he a prince and I'm not!? I thought you said he was my lesser demon!" Ryuu whines.

"You're the High General, duh!" Kokichi says brightly. "You have way more power than he does, commanding armies and stuff. Akihiko just has his gross libraries." A faux gagging sound comes from Kokichi's side of the line.

Akihiko huffs, trying to seem both offended and arrogant, but he's proud of his new title. Ryuu can't blame him: High General is pretty freaking cool, too.

"Your Majesty, Sir, how can I be of service to this kingdom today?" Akihiko asks, bowing even though Kokichi can't see it. Ryuu snorts, jabbing him in the side. That earns him one back. That starts a tasing war.

"It's a big request. Are you sure you can handle it?" Kokichi challenges teasingly. Ryuunosuke salutes the phone, as a High General should, and Akihiko snickers. Ryuu tases him harder this time, and Hiko bends over, clutching his side. Serves him right!

"Of course we can, Sir! We won't let you down!" Ryuu is practically shouting, still in salute position.

"Have faith, My King." Akihiko is upright again, composing himself and smoothing out his blazer. "There is nothing we cannot do."

Kokichi's deep breath is audible through the speaker, and both boys tense. If their leader is nervous, it must be something big.

"Someone will be joining your legion soon. I'd like you to return to the castle and train them as soon as possible."

It takes a second, but another grin cracks across Ryuu's face and a soft smile dusts Akihiko's. That's all?

"I don't know why you're nervous, Boss. If you picked 'em, I'm sure they'll survive our impossible training!"

"Under our care, they will be nothing short of perfect. Rest easy, Your Highness."The pair looks at each other, and smiles widen. Ryuu bumps shoulders with his partner in crime (one of them, anyway).

He's not expecting Akihiko to frown.

"What makes you think you can touch me? Me, a prince?"

"I'm a High General! I command the armies!"

"I am royalty, you swine!"

With an angered growl, Ryuu tackles Akihiko to the floor and another wrestling match begins. The phone is discarded, forgotten, and Kokichi's laughter trickles briefly through the speaker before it's cut off, call ending.

~死~

The last five minutes have just been the two of them shouting and elongating each other's names across the phone.

"Taaaaarou!"

"'Kiiiiiiichi!"

Kokichi finally breaks down in giggles.

"Tarou-chan! I miss you!"

Dealer — Diira Tarou — is in America.

Specifically, he's gorging himself on a pound's worth of McDonald's' cheeseburgers and about three large cartons of fries in the safety of DICE headquarters, New York, but details, shmetails.

"Well, I miss you, too, Boss," He says around a mouthful, "Wha'd' ya need?"

"Why would I need anything, Tarou-chan? Can't I check in with my subordinates like a good boss?"

"Well sure, but ya wouldn't call. Is it something big? I can try smuggling these fries back home. It'll be tough, but I guarantee the amount of salt is worth it. This is the kind of heart attack that's worth it."

"Tarou-chan!" Kokichi scolds, but Tarou can picture the smile on his face.

Tarou's laughter is full-bodied, and it shakes him in his entirety. He leans back in his plush swivel chair and props his feet up in the one across from him.

"Can't say I'm sorry, Boss, but I respect your decision. What'cha got for me, then?" Tarou snatches another cheeseburger, chowing down.

"Y'know, I made a friend recently."

"Oh?" Tarou reaches for a fry.

"Yeah. The day after I met them, they ate a whole pizza. A whole one. All by themself. In, like, fifteen minutes. It was gross."

Tarou laughs again but pauses when he hears commotion on Kokichi's end. His boss is snickering, and another voice — one Tarou doesn't recognize — is audible. The voice sounds exasperated, though its words are unintelligible.

Tarou understands, now, why his boss had called.

"Ya'know that if they can't beat me in an eating contest, they can't stay, right?" He says jokingly, a soft smile on his face. Kokichi, though, gives a sage hum of acknowledgment.

"I'll start starving them right now."

The person in the room starts to yell, and Kokichi laughs out loud, nothing like his signature giggle.

Tarou knows already that this person is here to stay.

~死~

"Emi-chan, I want to try on all your new dresses when you get back."

Queen — Ojoou Emi — has been stationed in France, dealing with most of Europe. (Even though there are two of them, King and Spades never get anything done.)

"I was planning on it, Ko-chan! There is this cute purple one that you'll like! Oh, and I got this pair of shoes to go with it and I love them!" Emi sing-songs.

"But your feet are too big, Emi-chan! I can't wear your shoes because my feet are dainty! Ogre shoes won't look any good!"

"I don't know, Ko-chan. You need something to balance out that enormous head of yours." The banter is playful, familiar. Emi doesn't know why Kokichi called, but she's glad he's okay.

"I don't know what you mean, Emi-chan! I'm cute, small, innocent, and perfect!" Emi giggles.  She agrees, for the most part, because he is cute and small and perfect (innocent, though? That's a stretch), but she can't say that to his face. She isn't wrong about his head; it can't take any more inflating.

"Although..." Kokichi trails off, and he says something else, but Emi can't understand him. He must have lowered the phone, but she can't imagine who he could be talking to. "Aha! They do have feet bigger than yours! They're taller than you, though, so I don't know if they count as Ogre Feet."

This makes Emi pause. Who is he talking about?

"Aw, Emi-chan! Can't think of anything to refute this fact that your brilliant leader has presented you with? It seems I've gotten smarter in your absence! I didn't know idiocy was infectious! It must be like STDs, Emi-chan! Now you have to warn someone before you engage in intercourse; otherwise, you could get sued! I should sue you, y'know, for infecting me with your stupidity. I can't afford to get dumber: the world needs me!"

"Who are they?" Emi whimpers softly, shaking with the effort of holding in a whine and ignoring his jabs at her intelligence. She feels heartbroken, like something special she once had is now no longer her own. The tears pricking at the corners of her eyes sting.

Kokichi's monologue stops, and when he speaks next, his voice matches hers.

"They saved my life, Emi-chan. They ran into machine-gun fire to save my life and the lives of probably a hundred others. They're ten, and they're in so much pain, too much pain. And they've never taken a life, no matter how hard life gets. I'm pretty sure they can't take a life. And Emi-chan-" he pauses briefly, listening to Emi choke on a sob before continuing.

"Their smile is the most beautiful thing you'll ever see, Emi-chan. You're going to love them."

Emi sniffles, the tears slipping down her cheeks hot and shameful. She's jealous. She knows she shouldn't be.

Kokichi takes a different approach to calm her down.

"They haven't cut their hair in a long time. If you ask nicely, they may let you play with it, scissors and everything."

Emi's hiccuped laugh is gross but relieved — one short chortle.

Kokichi doesn't even attempt to hide his sigh of relief, breathing out his nervous anticipation.

"I think you'd have a lot of fun dressing them up, too. They don't have a lot of clothes, so they'll have to trust your fantastic fashion sense."

She's smiling now, small and content despite the ugly feeling rolling in her gut.

"Okay, Kokichi. I can't wait to meet them."

"You'll always be my twin, Emi-chan. No one can replace you."

The gross feeling begins to fade. Ouma Kokichi is rarely so soft, so kind, so quiet. Emi loves him like this. Maybe this additional person won't be so bad if they're worth his heart.

~死~

Clubs — Karabu Nobutoshi — is out on the water off the coast of Sydney, Australia when Kokichi calls. He grins.

"You caught me at a good time, Boss. Just made it past the pier. What's going on?" One hand on the wheel, he turns his small schooner downwind, and Nobutoshi grins wider at the thrill in his stomach at the feeling of gliding over the water. Sailing is the best.

"No fair, Toshi-chan! You're having fun without me!" Kokichi whines, and Nobutoshi can see his pout. "Now you have to take me sailing when you come back!"

He laughs, throwing his head back and adjusting the wheel slightly.

"It's cold in Japan right now! You'd have to wait a bit." Then he realizes. "Wait. Come back? Did something happen? Are you all right?"

"Aww, how nice of you to worry about me! You're so sweet, Toshi-chan!"

"Seriously, Kichi. Is it an emergency? I can book a plane ticket home for tomorrow if-"

"Relax, Toshi-chan." Kokichi's playful tone disappears, and he instead adopts a more genuine air. "I'm okay, but I want you to head home once you wrap up business in Australia."

Nobutoshi sighs in relief.

"... Could you tell me why?" He asks, now more curious than worried but still a little hesitant.

"Well..." Oh no. Toshi can hear his grin. "There was some trouble. There was a gun and-"

"A gun! Kokichi, I swear!"

Kokichi laughs.

"Yup! A gun, Toshi-chan, and the evil villain who had the gun wanted me dead!"

"You literally just told me to relax, then you spring this on me. C'mon, Kokichi, I'm getting old! My heart can't take this!"

Forget about sailing, this little gremlin takes up all his time! Nobutoshi clicks on autopilot and rubs his face with his now-free hand. He would need the entirety of his focus for this conversation.

"What!? You're only sixteen, Toshi-chan! Don't worry about me, we need to worry about you!" Kokichi exclaims, sounding not the least bit concerned. Toshi smiles into his hand.

"Well, now you gotta tell me," Nobutoshi says, "because if you leave me on the cliffhanger, I will die of a heart attack and you'll need to dig my body out of the middle of the ocean."

As if he's mulling it over, Kokichi hums, then says, "Well, I guess we can't have that, so I'll tell you. There was a gun, but someone saved me! They beat up the big, bad villain and broke his gun! That's why I'm calling, Toshi-chan: because I want you to meet my savior!"

Okay, so that took a turn at the end. Nobutoshi was not expecting that, not in the slightest.

"Someone new, huh?"Kokichi pauses before he answers. "Yeah. They're a total dork like you, Toshi-chan, so I think you'll get along well."

Nobutoshi forces his brain to work again, forces himself to process the conversation, forces himself to breathe right.

The first breath is too harsh, making noise as it rushes out his nose.

It feels like so long ago now, but after running away from his latest orphanage with Tarou, Kokichi had found them on the streets. At first, they talked. For a long time. About anything and everything and nothing in particular. And then Kokichi brought them back to an abandoned building. It was old and dirty and warm and cozy and everything that home should be. They both stayed the night. And the one after that. Then suddenly they were family, him and Tarou and the small boy with a doll's face and his ragtag bunch of friends.

Family isn't born on a whim.

But then again, Kokichi found them all, so...

Toshi looks out over the calm ocean, drinking in the expanse of blue, and breathes again, slowly this time.

So maybe he should trust Kokichi's judgment. Toshi had trusted him this far; he could go a little further.

"Yeah, maybe we will."

~死~

Trick — Damasu Airi — is surprised to feel a buzzing in her back pocket as she's racing through the outskirts of the Congo Rainforest. She stops for a moment to answer, settling into the nook of a gigantic tree and catching her breath. When she sees the caller ID, she smiles and quickly picks up.

"Hi, Nii-chan," she breathes into the phone, so ecstatic to talk to him.

"Hi, Airi-chan," he says just as softly, and Airi squirms with a feeling of satisfaction, her smile widening. "How are you doing?"

"I'm good, Nii-chan. The trees are pretty and soft here." And it's true. The people are also really nice, especially when she brings food and supplies. Even though they can't understand each other, they are always so eager to help.

"That sounds like fun!" The smile in his voice makes her smile.

"Mhm."

Airi is content to just listen to Kokichi breathe into the phone, and they sit in silence for a bit before he speaks again.

"Airi-chan," he begins, oh so softly. She loves him. "I called to talk to you about something important."

He sounds serious. Airi freezes. Did she do something wrong? Is he getting rid of her? Is she never going to see him again? What's-

"Can you come home? I miss you."

Oh. Yeah, she can do that.

"I miss you, too, Nii-chan."

"I wanted to warn you, though. There is a reason I'd like to see you again." It's okay, a warning doesn't mean anything bad for her, he misses her-

"There's someone I want you to meet."

No. No. Someone new? No way. This new person will make him realize that she doesn't do anything, that she's useless. This new person will take him away from her. He'll leave her all alone and she'll get hurt again and everything will be so cold. She's so useless. Why couldn't she help him? Make him want to keep her? Why can't she stay and be loved and warm and have no new people and-

"Airi-chan." Nii-chan's voice sounds so grainy through the phone. It's another reminder he's not here with her. "I need you to breathe, Airi-chan. Please?"

She can do that. But maybe she can't. Her breath stutters, and it's so hard to get it through her nose and-

"Good job, Airi-chan. Can you do it again for me? Nice and slow."

She loves the way he says her name. She can do it again. For him.

"Good. Keep breathing for me, okay? Can you name five things you can see?"

She can do that, too. When he tells her she's done well, the warm and fuzzy feeling comes back in her chest. She likes that.

"The moss... the leaves... a bird... the dirt... and... the tree branches."

"Hmm, now four things you can hear?"

He goes through the rest of the sequence with her, slow and patient. They've perfected this through all the times it's happened before, and now she's breathing evenly again.

Okay, someone new.

"Their name is (G/N), and they like to protect people from bad guys. They protected me."

Airi likes the way their name sounds, this stranger, so soft and round as she tries it out on her tongue. And they like to protect. Are they like Nii-chan? She might like them if they're like Nii-chan.

"Okay."

Kokichi knows what her word entails, and that's enough.

~死~

Diamonds — Naiya Ren — calls Kokichi first.

"I'm not surprised you called me last," is the first thing he says when Kokichi picks up.

Kokichi hesitates for a moment. Ren takes advantage of his silence.

"If you want to know how I know, Mayumi called.  She said to be ready.  I figured I'd make the first move."

Kokichi stays silent. Good, that means he's willing to hear Ren out.

Ren has been with him since the beginning. The very beginning. As is, the time where DICE was still a fantasy in Kokichi's head. Back when he would share his dreams with Ren while they would play chess with their makeshift set of rocks and chalk and beat-up checkers pieces.

Kokichi's bleeding heart has always been tempered by Ren's calculated indifference.

"I have no issues with employing people around the world to do office jobs and run service counters," Ren says, "but I have told you I don't like it when people get too close to you. You are in a very high-risk position, Kokichi; you're a high profile target. Anyone could want you dead."

"They know who I am." With none of its usual mischief and lightheartedness, Kokichi's voice is lifeless. "They knew who I was when they saved my life."

"Which you, Kokichi?" Ren already knows.

"Does it matter?" He sounds close to tears.

"Of course it matters. Joker is not the same person as Ouma Kokichi and you know it."

The tears are streaming down Kokichi's face now. Ren can't hear them, but he knows.

"I'm making an assumption here, but I don't understand why you told them about DICE, the true DICE, and mentioned nothing to the rest of us. I get that this is your organization, your idea, but I can't help but feel that this is something that belongs to all of us." It almost hurts to say this to him, to treat him like he doesn't feel the same way the rest of them do about this entire thing, but it needs to be done.

"It does. Belong to all of us, I mean. I can't take all the credit, you know." Kokichi's typical speech patterns without his mischief to play along make his words sound eerie and robotic. It's a wonder how he can speak so calmly through his most emotional moments.

"I never meant to imply that you did." That's a lie. "But it belongs to us. Not someone who doesn't know the value of what we've built. Who doesn't understand the journey from the bottom to the top. Who can't appreciate it the same way we do. It doesn't feel fair. This may be petty of me, but I may be the only one who will say this to you. You're too smart to have called us all without expecting this reaction, this feeling."

"I think you're wrong. About the journey. Maybe not with DICE, but they know. And they'll know DICE, too."

Ren sighs. If this is enough to bring him to genuine tears, and enough to keep him fighting after hearing all this, perhaps Ren can hear him out.

There is one question that weighs heavier than all the rest in his mind.

"What makes them so interesting?"

He knows Kokichi. Better than anyone. Playing round after round of chess will do that to you. You get to know how a person's mind works, how fast it works. Kokichi is the smartest person he knows. He doesn't like things that bore him easily.

"What about them is so mysterious that makes you want to keep them around."

Because that's what it's always been. Each person Kokichi has picked up off the street has something more to them than their tragic backstory.

"Their smile."

Shit.

He's getting teary over a smile?

"Fine." Ren gives up. He wasn't sure he would even win this argument in the first place. "I'll meet them. I make no promises about what happens after that."

"Thank you. That's all I ask."

Damnit.

He got played, didn't he?

~死~

As Kokichi puts the phone down for the eighth and final time, he turns to face you with an enormous grin on his face.

"Now," he says, a mischievous smile on his lips, "We wait."

You look at him, trying to decipher what that smile means, whether it's genuine, but give up after a few seconds. You can't read the perfect mask on his face.

At least, not yet.

~死~

I’m actually really surprised that I managed to get this chapter out so soon.

Finally made it to DICE!  I hope you enjoyed their characters as much as I enjoyed writing them.  This is my take on DICE, and if you disagree, that’s fine, let’s agree to disagree.  I’ve seen other representations of these characters before, so I thought I’d try my hand.  I also tried my best to write a panic attack, so I hope I did okay on that, too. 

Thanks for reading!  I’ll be back next week.

[magical-beans]

Chapter 2: You’ll Shoot You’re Eye Out, Kid! (Danganronpa x Reader)

(G/N) = Given name

(S/N) = Surname

(N/N) = Nickname

Possible Trigger Warnings:  Blood/Gore, Mentions of Murder, Language

~死~

The obnoxious ring tone of an old phone rouses you out of your satisfying slumber, and you groan, fighting the urge to fall back asleep.  Your eyes crack open to see a sliver of sunlight, though the sun is likely just peeking over the horizon.  You had no intention of waking up this morning after eating a whole pizza yesterday.  It felt good to pass out in a food coma.   You groggily fumble around for the source of the noise, irritated at the wake-up call.

Your hand meets a piece of plastic, fingers closing around it to figure out what it is in the haze of your brain.  You move your fingers over the curved edge and the antenna-

The flip phone!

In your half-asleep state, you struggle to open the phone, accept the call, and press the phone to your ear before the ringing ends.

"Hello?" You cringe at the stiffness in your voice and the slight break in the middle of the word.  You swallow, trying to banish the dryness from your throat.

"Not a morning person, (N/N)-chan?" A voice cheers in your ear, distorted through the speaker. You don't reply, thinking only about how this isn't Joker on the phone.  The voice is feminine and doesn't have the same sharp edge to it as the boy from yesterday. "Well, that's okay! Meet us in ten minutes at the corner of 8 Jō North and 6 Chōme East by the old warehouse.  If you're late, we'll kill you! Toodles!"

The phone clicks and beeps as the call ends, and you lower it to your lap, staring at it for a moment in thought.

8 Jō North and 6 Chōme East.

Where was that again?

The old warehouse...?

Oh shit! I have to go!

You push off the wall you had been resting on and grab your duffel.  It contains the only stuff you own in it: a bunch of weapons and two changes of clothes. You break off in a dead sprint down the bare streets and ignore the dizziness that dances through your head.   A few cars and early birds are milling around, but most people who are awake now take the train to their offices. Good.  You need as much space as you can get.

That fucker couldn't have chosen a farther place, and he knows it.  You dart through buildings and alleys, scrambling to put together the fastest route.  It's a bonus you know this place like the back of your hand.  Courtesy of your job, you suppose.  You'll make it there right on time.  Joker can go suck a dick.

~死~

Desperation is a very important key to complete power. Complete loyalty. Complete servitude.

Ouma Kokichi knows this very well.

Because when someone is desperate, they want someone or something to rely on. To receive that, they will do anything.

So when Ouma Kokichi reaches out to someone to become his subordinate, he gives them a good, old-fashioned test.

If they are desperate enough, they will do the almost impossible task he gives them.  If not, they aren't worth his time. It's as simple as that.

(S/N) (G/N) comes hurtling out the alley next to the limo Ouma had shown up in, vaulting over the vehicle in an attempt to slow their momentum.

Two minutes early. Impressive.

Better yet, they're desperate enough to come all that way to see him.

They passed the test.

The sound of heavy panting fills the air, and (G/N) bends over their knees, struggling to regain their breath.

"(N/N)-chan! You made it!"

"Fuck... hah... you." They take deep breaths between their words, gulping down air as if it's the most precious thing in the world. They must have sprinted all the way here.

Good. The more they want it, the more they'll do.

Kokichi puts on a shit-eating grin.

"(N/N)-chan! That language is unacceptable!"

They stay silent, glaring at him.

"I shouldn't be surprised at your performance, though. You are the underground's best bodyguard, after all."

Still no response. Kokichi almost frowns. He was hoping for a little more reaction than that! He'll just have to push their buttons a little more.

"You aren't very talkative when you aren't high, are you?"

(G/N) is quiet for a moment, then finally speaks.

"It doesn't pay to have loose lips."

Kokichi giggles in his suspicious, bone-chilling manner and slips off the roof of the car. He opens the door for his new companion, welcoming them inside.

He's pleased. They're more composed than he thought they'd be.

"Welcome to the team, (N/N)-chan! Next stop? DICE headquarters!"

~死~

In truth, the only reason Ouma Kokichi had snagged (S/N) (G/N) off the street is the fact that he can't stand the sight of orphans and homeless youth.  Having been one himself at one point, it's easy to empathize with their situation, and it's even easier to offer them a spot in his ever-growing organization.  So, upon discovering that (G/N) was homeless, Kokichi's mind was made up. Give them housing and a simple office job, and he'd be on his way.

This is, of course, only until they reach headquarters.

The car ride has been quiet and uneventful.  (G/N) hasn't moved a muscle the whole time, and Kokichi and Ishida Aiko — the girl who had placed the phone call that morning — attempt to make conversation. They glean very few results.

Kokichi is so bored.  Maybe he should bother (G/N) until they snap. Yeah, but then they won't work for him.  Hmm...

His eyes slide to the black duffel tucked into (G/N)'s lap.

Perfect.

"Hey, (N/N)-chan, what's in the bag?"

They merely set the duffel on the floor and unzip it, allowing the other passengers to peek inside at the glints of metal and leather.  Come on!

Let's try that again.

"Woah!  You can use all these?"

"Yeah," they say, nodding as they recline in their seat.  Kokichi notices how comfortable they seem to be even in the stiff leather seating, and his heart clenches. (Not that he'd admit that to anybody.)

But that's still not a satisfactory reaction!  Do something!

"Cool!" He cheers.  Not really. "Can I touch them?" He doesn't wait for permission, already reaching for the bag.  Maybe he'll find a knife to play with.  That'll keep him entertained for all of, oh, a minute.  Longer than Aiko-chan, at least, and his phone.

Calloused fingers close around his wrist before he can slip his hand inside.

Kokichi glances up, fighting the urge to yank his hand away from the grip, and meets (G/N)'s stern glare.

No! Nuh-uh! Nope! Not having that!

He giggles to distract himself from the situation, pulling away slowly instead.

"I was kidding, (N/N)-chan!  Ooh!  I know!  You should show us how to use a weapon!" That would be entertaining, too!

Aiko giggles next to him, nodding her head vigorously in agreement.

(G/N) just huffs a harsh breath through their nose and zips the bag closed again, tucking it into their lap again.  Boo!

"Aww," Aiko whines, "you're no fun!" That's the smartest thing she's said all day!

The car then falls into silence, Aiko returning to her phone and (G/N) watching the buildings go by.  Kokichi weighs the merits of pretending to do something on his phone or staring out the window.  On the one hand, if he has his phone, Aiko will leave him alone, and that's really tempting.  On the other hand, he could try to creep out everybody in the car by staring blankly at the road.

Neither of them is looking at him.

Kokichi sighs.  Phone it is.

Bo~oring!

He opens his phone and stares at the home screen while he plays card games against himself in his head.

Eventually, the limo rolls to a stop next to one of the tallest high rises in the city, a massive pillar of metal and glass reaching up through the clouds.  It also happens to be a base of operations for DICE.

Finally!

The chauffeur gets out first, opening the door wide for Kokichi and Aiko.  Aiko steps out in a fit of giggles (ugh), and Kokichi tumbles out after her, grateful that he doesn't have to spend another minute in there.  (G/N) steps out on the other side, hefting their bag over their shoulder.

"Nuh-uh (N/N)-chan!" Kokichi reprimands childishly, one hand on his hip and the other outstretched, waving a slender finger.  He lets a mischievous look alight across his face and twinkle in his eyes. "The bag can't come with.  Now that you're working for me, you need new stuff!"

Only partly true, but hey, they don't need to know everything.  Welcome to the joys of being a new hire.

They frown slightly, readjusting the bag once more, and furrow their eyebrows at him.

Pffft.  They look so dumb.  Then again, they're clueless.  Everyone looks dumb when they're clueless.

... Does he look like that when he's clueless?

No.  Of course not! Ouma Kokichi is never clueless.  Duh.

The chauffeur rounds the car and holds out his hand expectantly.  After a few seconds of awkward silence and quick glances, (G/N) finally passes the bag over with a frustrated huff, stepping past the man.  Kokichi nearly laughs.  Nearly.

The limousine leaves before (G/N) reaches the curb.

"Shall we?" Aiko gestures grandly towards the building and skips onwards to the doors. Kokichi giggles, inwardly letting out an exasperated groan — she's imitating him!  How unoriginal! — then follows suit.  He sneaks a glance back at (G/N), who has fallen in step behind him, scanning the surroundings.

This is an office building for Enigmatic Jewelers: a company known for its creative settings and gorgeous stones.  It's also one of the four components that make up the elaborate scheme and corporation that is DICE.  A single building of its kind out of thousands worldwide.

Aiko flings the glass doors open, and Kokichi turns to face (G/N), walking backward as he offers an explanation.

"Welcome to DICE, recruit!" He spreads his arms wide, gesturing to the open and tactfully furnished atrium.  Behind him, Aiko prances up to the front desk, relaying the orders he had sent her earlier. "Don't slack off, or I'll have you killed!"

(G/N) offers no reaction.  Humph, disappointing.

"Come along now, your tour awaits!"

~死~

The office floor is a massive expanse of cubicles and desks.

The minute you step out of the elevator, you're affronted by the stench of cheap coffee and a sea of noise.  It's rather overwhelming.  You don't enjoy being in crowded rooms, especially so unprepared.  It's the best place for a mass murderer's last stand; so many people to kill, so little space to escape.  You straighten up, lending your senses to the surroundings.  Being surprised is not an option.

Aiko has pranced off somewhere, mentioning something about a friend.  Not that you would ever say it out loud, but you're grateful she's gone.  She's trying too hard to be something she's not.

Now you're alone with Joker -- sort of -- and you study the lines of his shoulders and arms as he walks.   He's saying things you're only half-listening to, prattling on about this and that.  You've been trying to get a read on him all morning, but the only thing you can sense is his abrasive exterior.  It makes you uneasy.  Then again, that's probably the point, so you try your best to push it aside, but it still gets on your nerves.  It makes you wonder how he does it, creates a total air about himself that's so utterly repelling.

And there was that moment in the car...

Joker raises his arm to point into an empty cubicle, but your focus is elsewhere.  Your gut is roiling, an unwelcome heat settling in your chest.  Something isn't right.

"And this is where-" You cut Joker off, ushering him into the cubicle as gently as you can with a hand on his shoulder.  He looks up at you, expression pinched and confused.

"Get down.  Now." Unfortunately, your voice doesn't hold the same tenderness.  Instead, it sounds gruff in its effort to remain low.  You can't see his reaction, but you can tell he's uncomfortable, and he's hesitating.  You pay him no mind, surveying the area above the cubicle in a search for what set off your instincts.  The longer he stands, though, you become antsier. You're a millisecond from shoving him to the floor when he finally pulls out the chair to sit down.

You breathe a sigh of relie-

Then the screaming starts, followed by the sound of gunshots.

Fucking-

"I heard you!  Where are you, you motherfucker?" A man stands up into view, a massive automatic rifle in hand, blood already spattered across his face.  A few people are struggling to get away, but there have been no fatal shots.  Okay, that's good.

You're off in a sprint before the man can finish his next shouts.

You leap over the first set of cubicles, sweeping paper off the nearest desk and up into the air.   Hopefully that obscures his vision.  While the gunman is distracted, you dash through the maze of desks, pushing people down and out of the line of fire.  When you're finally close enough, you roll under the line of his barrel and send a fist into his stomach.  As the man doubles over, you find your opportunity to separate the man and his weapon, and you take it.   You rip the gun from his hands, cracking it in half over the nearest desk, and throw it to the side.  You grab the attacker by his wrists and bind his hands behind his back then leverage yourself above him.  You grip the back of his head in one hand to push his face into the ground.

"Is there any particular reason you needed something so dangerous in an office?"

The guy coughs, air pushed out of him from the punch and his relocation to the ground.  Up close, he looks too young to be working an office job.  He ignores you, and instead growls, "Who the fuck are you?"

You grip his head tighter, pushing with a little more force against the bridge of his nose.  A threat. "I asked you a question first."

"And I don't fucking care!  Who do you think you are, huh?"

You shatter his nose against the floor as Joker rounds the corner. Damn, you were hoping he'd stay put. The man wails in agony, struggling against the hand that holds his wrists in place. Blood pools under his face.

"My, my, (N/N)-chan! Who knew you were so violent?" Joker's white converse enter your line of sight before they halt, but you don't look up, opting instead to keep your eyes trained on the attacker.  At the sound of the Devil's voice, the man struggles harder.

"You! You, you motherfucker, this is all your fault! All of it!"

He's jolting violently against your hands, making valiant efforts to escape you despite the amount of pain he must be in.   In an attempt to silence him, you brace your leg across his triceps and pull up on his wrists.

"Continue yelling and I break both of your arms."

"Hold on, (N/N)-chan! I want to hear what he has to say!  There sure are some interesting words coming out of that enormous mouth of his!" Joker doesn't sound the least bit concerned.

Joker crouches down to be more level with the attacker, and this time, you can see most of him. The tips of his inky hair curl into your vision.  The look on his face isn't visible, but you're sure it's some variation of a sadistic smile, the bastard.  Joker waits for the guy to speak again.

"I thought it was a good thing, you know?" the guy coughs again mid-sentence, spitting up more blood. "You invited me here, gave me a job.  I figured that this would be heaven compared to everything I've been through.  But no!  You've turned me into a goddamn robot, answering calls all day and managing sales!  I would rather be back on the streets again!  All the people here feel the same way! Let us go!"

"Let you go, you say?" Joker's voice lilts sweetly, and he brings a hand up to his face as though he's considering something. "I can do that!  All you had to do was ask!"

The guy stills under your hands.

You're confused, sort of relieved.  Shouldn't there be some kind of catch?

"...Really?"

"Of course!  I have no problem with blowing this whole place up!  How does the afterlife sound?"

Ah.  There it is.

And the squirming starts again.

The real question is why you thought Joker might have let him go.

"The afterlife?  You sick bastard.  I swear to God when I get my hands on you-" You press the guy's face harder into the floor, and he gets cut off by his own shout of pain.

"Hmm, well that's too bad.  (N/N)-chan, break his arms and knock him out.  He's coming with us." Joker stands up in a twirl not unlike how he had yesterday, and waves his hand nonchalantly, beckoning you to follow.

Well, you'll prepare for the worst.

You knock the guy out via pressure point before you break his arms, minimizing his pain.

It doesn't go unnoticed.

~死~

Kokichi enters the elevator again, (G/N) at his side.  The guy -- Kindaichi Tomura, because he would never forget someone -- is hanging over (G/N)'s shoulder.  Without Aiko, (G/N)'s presence is almost overwhelming in the compact space.  Even as they turn their back to set the guy down, Kokichi has to resist the urge to shiver and shrink away.

That's easy.  He has a lot of experience fighting that instinct in particular.

He's also curious.  So curious.  More curious than ridiculously creeped out.

He wants to know more.

"Where to?"

It's weird to think they're a year younger than he is.  All things considered, he's pretty impressed with the underground's best bodyguard.

That's a damn good gut instinct, too!  Like, Kokichi hadn't even thought it was possible to have a gun in there, but it is.  And -- he sneaks a glance at Kindaichi -- that's a shame.  To smuggle a gun past metal detectors?  It's almost too bad Kokichi has to get rid of him.

"My super top-secret lab!  We have to dispose of the body, you know?"

He lets his mouth go on autopilot for one minute, and this is the shit that comes out of his mouth?  Damn, that's good.

Also, what's with that?  A bodyguard who can't take a life?  (He's taking a guess, but Kokichi is seldom wrong.)  Yes, Kokichi supposes, their job is to protect, but shouldn't they be able to take a life in the interest of their client?  Isn't that how that's supposed to work?  While he's lost in his head, Kokichi almost misses (G/N) priceless reaction.

(G/N) frowns, looking down at the passed out, bloodied guy propped up on the elevator wall. "He's not dead."

"Whaaaat?  You didn't kill him, (N/N)-chan?  You were so scary back there I thought you didn't know how not to kill people!"

Okay, maybe a little far, but who is he if he doesn't push a few buttons?

Their frown deepens, and he wants to laugh, but they don't push any further on the topic.  Hmm.  More self-control than he expected.

"So we'll kill him and dispose of his body." They say it as more of a statement than a question, sure that's the outcome.  The disappointment and apprehension he hears in their voice make him want to cackle until he cries.

The elevator reaches the first floor, but the doors don't open.  From his pocket, Kokichi pulls a key chain that holds two dangling charms: one a grinning comedy mask, and the other a die, ten-sided.  He presses the point of the comedy mask into the key-slot, and the elevator starts up again, heading down.  Kokichi is on the verge of another bark of laughter when he senses (G/N) jolt in surprise but quickly schools his face.

"Of course not, Silly Goose!  How could you believe that?  We won't kill him.  We just have to make sure everyone thinks we did."

The elevator slides to a stop and the doors open, the screen above the door reading:

Floor Poker

Kokichi steps out and spins to face (G/N), scanning their face as it morphs into awe.  Well, that's a given.  The technology and equipment behind him are state of the art.  He grins.

"Welcome to DICE, (S/N) (G/N).  For real this time.  My name is Kokichi Ouma, but you can call me Boss."

They glance down at him, looking him straight in the eye as if gauging the truth of his statement.  Moments later, they smile softly.

"Please take care of me." They bow their head, and for the first time, Kokichi feels their presence relax and transform.  A wave of serenity pass over him, curling around him and filling him with something warm and soft.

Relief, care, safety.

Love.

Maybe not for the person in front of him, not yet, but for his work.  It's times like this that he knows everything was worth it.  Will always be worth it.

But supreme leaders can't stand in the comfort zone for too long!  Kokichi shakes his head to rid him of the weird thoughts.  Letting his familiar, mischievous grin slip into place, he prances further into the lab.

"Come on, (N/N)-chan!  We have a body to burn!"

The reply that makes its way back is warm in tone, bouncing with slight laughter.  Kokichi's heart fills a little more, already way past its capacity.

"Of course, Boss."

[magical-beans]

“It Don’t Mean a Thing...”

You stand in the middle of the room, surveying. Millions of dollars worth in clothing alone was being worn, accessories too much to try and count.

‘How much would that change in the real world?’ you think, eyes trying to drink in every little detail. It was too much. 

You sit down, focusing instead on the conversations. This one was between a slim, velvet, wine colored dress, and her opposite: a short, fluffy olive thing with a matching bow. 

“I’m in so much pain,” Wine concedes, getting closer to her friend as if it was a secret that could hurt her so much more if it got out, “The inflamation on the scar hasn’t gone down at all. I’m worried my doctors won’t be able to get the stitches out.”

“Oh dear,” Olive sympathizes with concern in her voice, turning to look at Wine and place a hand on her back. “That’s awful. Was it rejected?”

“Thankfully, no,” Wine sighs in relief, a small smile gracing her lips. “My skin is just reacting badly. It could be the medicine.”

Ah, yes. You knew Wine and her faithful friend Olive. You’d last seen Olive a year ago, over coffee and tears in a small diner in an unknown town. Wine was bedridden. It was good to see her out and about, you supposed. It was also nice to know your kidney went to good use. 

Music is drifting from the adequately sized stage; a jazz group, playing an old Duke Ellington song. The sky, mermaid dress, sparkly with sequins, twirls gently across the floor hand in hand with the ash suit.

“You look lovely, dear.” Ash leans over Sky’s shoulder as he dips her, and she giggles, tugging him down slightly more.

“You know you shouldn’t be talking, Love,” Sky whispers, pressing her lips to his ear as she speaks, “Doctor’s orders.”

Ash smiles, then spins Sky once and pulls her back into his chest. “Hmm. I know, but you’re too beautiful not to say something.”

The table in the hospital immediately came to mind, and the garbage can sitting next to Ash, filled halfway to the top with blood. He couldn’t even speak, hunched over the basket the whole time. The only interaction he had was the signing of his name on the paper. Sky hadn’t been there at the time, most likely in too much of a mental shock to even stand around her lover in this state. That lung cost you nothing, though, but rather fills you with contentment as you watch the couple dance now. 

Chatter is loud over by the bar, cocktails of many shapes and sizes in the hands of those caught up in friendly conversation. Your eyes rest on a sunshine dress. It was simple, covering the knees just barely, and no extra fabric to make it fluffy. A bow around the waist, and school appropriate shoulder straps made her like a student. The midnight suit next to her stood close, arm wrapped around her waist. A neat martini in her hand and a glass of whisky in his fed the flow of conversation. 

“How are you holding up?” Midnight asks, pulling Sunshine into him, the flecks of yellow in the handkerchief tucked into his pocket bursting in the proximity of the dress.

“Just fine,” she replies, tilting her head up, their noses almost touching. Midnight gives a smirk, closing that distance. 

“Are you sure it’s not just the alcohol, dear?” Midnight presses on, running the hand that was on her waist up and down, over her hip, and just to where her waist began to curve out. The only reply he gets is a small ‘hmm’ as she leans into him, sighing ever so slightly.

He just chuckles, his hand coming to rest in the center of her waist again, and rocking the pair of them to the sway of the music. 

Apparently you saw them on a better day. When you went in, Sunshine was in a hospital bed, any hue of gold missing from her skin. Midnight was also there, pale as could be, hair disheveled, and overall in worse condition than Sunshine. He was leaning on her bed, eyes red with tears, and Sunshine was strung up with too many IVs.  She offered a smile, no matter how much it looked like it pained her, all the way through negotiations. As if you wouldn’t give her the bone marrow transplant otherwise.

Your attention slowly turns to the stage, towards a sleek, raven leather jacket and faded skinny jeans. He stands on the stage, grinning out at the people milling around with a microphone gripped in his hand.

“How’s everybody doing tonight?” He asks the crowd, many cheering in answer. “That’s good. That’s good. I don’t know how many of you know this, but I’m just coming off a heart transplant, and this is the first concert I’ve been able to perform since then. It feels amazing to be back up here! Thank you for having me!”

He stands out among the garish crowd, and it’s a wonder he’d been let in here at all. If he wasn’t one of the greatest musicians of the decade, he probably wouldn’t have been. 

His saxophone rests across the plush, leather covered stool he’d been sitting on moments ago, the shiny brass it was made out of reflecting the light of the massive crystal chandeliers on the ceiling. It’s polished perfectly, and looks practically new, but you know it isn’t. Raven plays with delicate grace, serenading the crowd away into the night with the slow, sweet song of jazz.

Once upon a time, you might have joined in light conversation, had a drink or two, or enjoyed yourself dancing across the sleek tile with a partner who’s name was known around the world. Maybe be congratulated or greeted in a manner of holding fame. But instead, you watch.

You wouldn’t have it any other way. After all, you did give your heart to what you loved the most.

[magical-beans]

Chapter 1: The Meet-Cute (Danganronpa x Reader)

(N/N) = NICKNAME

"What are you doing back here?  Dumpster diving?  That's gross!"

Clearly, you aren't dumpster diving.  You lift your head from your knee, the one tucked up by your chest — the other leg is extended — and glare at the person that is now standing at the end of the alley you're curled up in.

"Do you need something, or did you just want someone to annoy?" You counter.

"A little bit of both, I guess." The boy pouts playfully. "The people I hang around haven't been much fun lately." He can't be much older than ten, you think, so not far off from yourself.  He's eerily pale, but he has curly, ink colored hair that frames his face, giving him the makings of a doll.

"I won't be much fun either." You say in an attempt to turn him away.  You lean your head against the brick wall behind you, closing your eyes. "So leave me alone."

"Oh, hardly!" The boy exclaims, lips twisting back up into that giddy grin. "This is easily the most entertainment I've had all week!"

Great.

"You said you wanted something, then.  Spit it out."  If he isn't going to leave, then you'll have to hurry your little chat along.  A throb pounds against your skull, already splitting headache rapidly worsening the longer this conversation goes on.  You need water, possibly something to eat.  You don't have the time or brain power to process this nonsense.

"I've heard stories about you." You jerk forward, eyes snapping open as you hear his voice come down into a whisper, and he's suddenly crouched right in front of you, a maniacal glint in his irises and smile.

When the fuck did he get there?  I didn't even hear him move!

"(N/N)-chan, won't you protect me from the big, bad bullies?"  His pout is back, but his eyes — they're violet— still shine with something else.

"How do you know my name?" You glower at him, bringing his grin back.  He stands up, pacing back and forth in front of you.

"Oh, I know lots about you, (N/N)-chan!  Like how you're homeless, and haven't eaten in several days, and you spend your earnings on pot, and you're a big name in the underworld, and that I want to recruit you to my organization!  It has over ten thousand members!" The boy huffs and crosses his arms defiantly, grinning down at you as he finishes his rant.

He's pretty short for someone who talks a game as big as his.

"Sit down.  You're a middle schooler who did his research.  Now leave or tell me what you really want."

All of a sudden, he starts tearing up, fat droplets rolling down his cheeks, staining them an irritated red.

Oh boy, here come the waterworks.

"You-you don't believe me? Ju-just beca-because I'm small do-doesn't mean I can't be the supreme leader of a big organization, you know!  And you're younger than I am!" His blubbering is punctuated with an obnoxious sobbing sound not unlike a siren.

He switches between emotions on a whim.  It makes him difficult to read.

You hold back an exasperated sigh knowing it won't help you clean up your mess. "I just said sit down.  Now calm down and tell me what you want." You aren't sure if you can believe him on the organization part, but you keep that to yourself, too.

The boy wipes his tears quickly, grin returning as he gracefully slipped into a criss-cross position in front of you. He rests his elbows on his knees and leans forward.

He still has baby fat on his cheeks.

Cute.

"I told you —" he smirks, letting out a small giggle, "— I want to recruit you for my organization.  You're in the underworld; I'm sure you've heard of DICE."

Your eyes fly open wide and jaw drops a bit, really taking in the boy before you.

Quick

Overdramatic

Childish looks

Leader of DICE

So this was the lord of the underworld.

JOKER

"There's the recognition I was looking for!" The boy exclaims before standing up in a whirlwind, twisting around in a fluid movement to make his way out of the alley.  As he nears the street, he tosses something over his shoulder, and you reflexively reach out to catch it.  It's a flip phone: simple, black, and easily disposed of.

"I'll call you tomorrow to give you a time and place. Don't be late." And with that, he disappears around the corner.

"The devil himself, huh?  That's a surprise," you say to yourself after a few moments of shocked silence.

You've been warned of him on more than one occasion.  Been told of the things he did, the kind of people he worked with.  The kind of people he took down.  He was indiscriminate and violent, a natural disaster that wipes out anything and everything in its path.  But he was also careful and calculated, and everything he did was untraceable.  No one knew his name, or his true one, at least, if he'd bothered to give you the time of day to tell you a name at all.  You've been told that his looks are most definitely deceiving. That he can read anyone as if they are an open book and then make them his slave with just his words.  You've been told to watch out and be careful whenever news of him and his crew comes around.  

And this wolf in sheep's clothing had just come knocking at your door, offering you a job.

Well, you aren't the underworld's best bodyguard for nothing.

You feel a twitch of your lips, maybe the beginnings of a smirk, cross your face, and you relish it for a split second, that feeling of being out of control for a moment taking over.

And then your stomach clenches and growls and another scream of throbbing pain claws through your skull, and you decide it would probably be a good idea to get some substance in your body other than the pot that had staved off your hunger for so long.  You'll worry about everything else later.

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

So this is my first fan fiction post on Tumblr, and I intend to update on Fridays, but I’ve never been very good at keeping up with a deadline.  This is an x reader, so if you don’t like, don't bother.  Hope you enjoyed!

[magical-beans]

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We begin in a small town in the state of Indiana. A two-story farmhouse, set within a vast stretch of golden grass swaying in the breeze. It’s painted a fresh baby blue, perhaps just lighter than the sky, and a porch wraps around it, the color of clouds on a sunny day. A swing for two — three if you squeeze — hangs at the front, not far from the door. It creaks with weight, and you can hear it today as a woman sits there with her son, stroking his hair as he lays his head in her lap. Her eyes are tired, heavy bags that are poorly concealed, and maybe those are only makeup for the puffy redness ringing her dark eyes, too. Her mousy brown hair is tied back in a loose bun, her face pale and her jaw and cheekbones more defined than they probably should be. She’s terribly thin. Her delicate, long fingers card through the blond hair of the child resting on her thigh. He, too, is pale, but not unnaturally so like his mother. Large, brilliant, blue eyes the color of the ocean in the Caribbean hold innocence and a childlike sort of caring. The boy’s cheeks are round with youth. They both stare off into the expanse of the field around them.

“Daddy’s coming back soon, right?” The boy speaks up, his voice soft and breathy, as if not to break the serenity of the moment. His mother looks down at him and musters as much kindness and warmth into her eyes as she possibly can, smiling a bit.

“Of course,” is all she says, her voice holding the same sort of cautiousness her son’s did. The pair falls into silence once more. 

-↭-

Some years later, the pair sits out on the swing again, his head resting in her lap. He is taller now, and his feet dangle off the side. His hair is still the same blond it was, and his eyes just as brilliant. The boy’s skin has tanned slightly from time spent in the sun, cheeks still full. The woman, if possible, looks smaller. Her jaw is clenched tightly, defining even more her sunken eyes and gaunt face. Streaks of silver have begun to show in her hair, and the bags can no longer hide the red around her bloodshot eyes. Her clothes hang off of her limply, if only to hide the nothingness beneath.

“Dad’s coming back, right?” the boy asks, once again in that breathy whisper. He looks up at his mother to catch her smile at him, but it isn’t the same as it was. It will never be the same.

“Very soon, I hope,” she replies, running her fingers through his hair. Silence ensues. Neither of them speak of the letters with the red wax seals in the hatbox on her dresser, the extra place setting at the table each night, or the tear stained pillow on her bed that isn’t hers. Silence doesn’t always mean peace.

-↭-

The swing is creaking again today. The boy lies there with his mother. His legs are tucked up against him, the only way for him to fit now, laying like this. His eyes are darkened, a storm passing over their clear waters, reflecting the fiery rage burning in his soul. He’s toughened up a bit, his face has lost its youthful flush. His jaw is set, and he’s practically glaring at the horizon. His mother sits there, head tilted back to prevent the tears collecting in her eyes from falling. Her lips are pursed, and she rocks the swing gently with her feet. Her hair is now silver with streaks of mousy brown. Lines crease her forehead. She looks worse by the day.

“Dad’s not coming back, is he,” The boy accuses, eyes narrowing. His voice no longer preserves the peaceful atmosphere, and it’s harsh. 

“Don’t say that, sweetie.” Her hand finds its way to his hair again, “Of course he is.” Her voice is still quiet, holding back the choked sob that’s threatening to escape her lips, turning into a sort of hiccup. There isn’t a smile. No words are spoken about the purple swelling blossoming and clouding the skin under his right eye, the split lip, or the bloody knuckles he comes home with everyday. Nothing is said about how the letters miraculously stopped arriving, or the collection of them growing under the boy’s bed. Neither of them say anything about the empty orange containers in her bathroom and the glass bottles in the kitchen. Their silence is no longer tranquil.

-↭-

They sit there side by side now, the creaking of the swing drifting off into the wind. He’s too tall to be laying on his mother, so instead she rests her head on his shoulder. He grew, and towers over his mother by at least a foot. His hair is a sandy blond, a beach after rain, and the storm in his eyes has passed, back to that brilliant, brilliant cyan. He’s muscular. Team sports and manual labor do that to you. His jaw is strong. His mother will tease him about shaving, and he’ll laugh and smile at her with those pearly whites. She’s rubbing his broad shoulders as she leans on him. There is no more brown in her hair, and the skin on her cheeks sags a bit, but she’s happy. You can tell by the small smile on her face. Warmth has returned to her dark eyes, but she is still fragile. So fragile.

“He’s coming back.” He says it with conviction, entwining his fingers with his mother’s, squeezing slightly.

“Yes,” is all her reply is, and she snuggles into her son further. They stare off together. Nobody talks about the tube supplying her air, or the bloodstained tissues in the trash. They don’t talk about how he looks like his father more and more everyday, and they certainly don’t speak of the future. But maybe, just this time, the silence is serene.

-↭-

We end, once again, in that small town in Indiana. With that two-story farmhouse painted the color of the sky in the middle of the golden field. The wrap-around porch and the swing that creaks. But the house isn’t freshly painted. It’s cracked and chipping. The porch is in a similar condition. New, however, not far from the house, is a large stone with a few simple words engraved on it. It’s in a small clearing in the stretch of open grass, and there looks to be a space for one more next to it. It reads:

Here Lies A Loving Mother

The engraving is choppy, obviously not done by a professional. The boy, not so little anymore, sits on the swing alone, not crying, but not smiling either. The swing rocks gently, his feet never leaving the ground. He looks just about the same he did, maybe a little stubble and more rugged, but no different, really. Elbows on his knees and face in his hands, he just sits there, silently. He doesn’t stay long. As he leaves in his rusty, blue pickup, you can notice another something new. A bright red ‘For Sale’ sign is hammered into the ground in front of the house, begging to be seen amidst the golden grass. Over the years, the house sees changes; other families and smiles and laughter, a paint color or two, but two things never change; the swing always remains, not far from the front door, and the space next to the stone. That is forever empty.