mercury-ink-writes

[mercury-ink-writes]

We’ve reached ten kudos!!! Thank you guys so much for the support and even just for giving Jabberwock a shot, it goes a long way

any engagement helps with ensuring this fic stays alive and continues to be written ^^

[mercury-ink-writes]

It’s been a month since the last chapter of Jabberwock, and I apologise T-T life has been busy and I hit a creative wall, but I do have the next chapter in the works !

[mercury-ink-writes]

Mercury Presents...

“Crawling at your feet,” said the Gnat (Alice drew her feet back in some alarm), “you may observe a Bread-and-Butterfly. Its wings are thin slices of Bread-and-butter, its body is a crust, and its head is a lump of sugar.”

“And what does it live on?”

“Weak tea with cream in it.”

A new difficulty came into Alice’s head. “Supposing it couldn’t find any?” she suggested.

“Then it would die, of course.”

“But that must happen very often,” Alice remarked thoughtfully.

“It always happens,” said the Gnat.`` –Through the Looking-Glass, Lewis Carroll.

Kokichi talks to Kaito. Blood. Lots of blood.

Notes:

I am so sorry this chapter took so long! I struggled so much with doing the dialogue for Kaito, but I got through it eventually (thank you @nexyra on Tumblr for your help!!)

Jabberwock

Chapter Three: Bread-and-Butterfly

　What time is it? Oh, it’s not even two yet. Kokichi doesn’t know if he wanted time to pass by quicker or slower, but he’s disappointed either way. And bored. Let’s see… Doodling? No, he doesn’t feel like drawing. Spinny chair is too dizzying. There’s no games here to play. He’s not tired enough to sleep. He’s too tired to do origami. Reading would hurt his eyes. Writing would hurt his hand.

　…

　He could… talk to Kaito… Yeah, he could talk to Kaito. He has been meaning to. And this time, he won’t chicken out.

　So, Kokichi once again rolls over to the door (and, once again, hits the walls more than a dozen times along the way) and pulls himself to his feet. It takes every ounce that he has of focus, strength, and pure fucking stubbornness to not stumble, but he manages to get out of his room and down the hall to Kaito’s door.

　He’s scared. Kokichi Ouma is scared—imagine that! It feels like his stomach is twisting in opprobrium and his heart is trying to suffocate him, but Kokichi’s hands still cooperate enough for him to knock. Seconds pass by gratingly slow, and with every heartbeat that thuds in his throat, Kokichi finds it harder and harder to stay standing.

　What if Kaito isn’t in his room? What if Kaito knows it’s him and doesn’t want to interact? What if Kaito is gone? What if Kaito is angry at him? What if Kaito is in too much pain to answer? What if Kaito is busy? What if Kaito hates him?

　Too bad Kokichi’s thoughts are jarred by the door opening and thus tipping his fickle balance—though, the abruptness of it paired with how long he’s been standing sort of makes him too dizzy to focus on anything.

　“Are you… okay?”

　The feeling of someone catching Kokichi by the arm sends shockwaves through his body, and he can’t help but shudder. Who just spoke..? Someone just caught him… God, the world is spinning… Kokichi can’t handle this much longer. Damnit, he’s so pathetic!

Think, Kokichi, think. Who is talking? ...Kaito. It’s Kaito. So, obviously, Kokichi forces a smile and tries to squint his swimming vision into working at least somewhat.

　“Whaaat? I’m f-feeling just delightful~!”

　With a roll of the eyes that Kokichi can just barely see, Kaito replies, “I don’t believe that, bro. You look like shit.”

　A dazed giggle escapes Kokichi, “Th-that’s cuz you k-killed me, silly!” and he leans into Kaito’s support. Pitiful, yes, but it would be even more pathetic to collapse.

　That comment certainly strikes a nerve for Kaito, as his grip tightens. “Cut the crap Ouma…”

　The growl those words are said with almost makes Kokichi falter, but instead he just forces his smile to widen. He can’t manage to speak anymore—he’s getting too nauseous. Everything is still spinning, and the world is swaying beneath him. Or it’s himself that’s swaying…

　“You’re sitting down.” Kaito yanks Kokichi into his dorm and, after some movement that makes Kokichi nearly gag from the feeling of, Kokichi is now slumped on the bed.

　Fuck… Breathe. He needs to breathe... Just breathe. Why is it so much harder to breathe when he’s being stared at? Why won’t Kaito stop fucking staring at him? Stop!

　Kokichi cannot quite process the world around him. Too much spinning, too much swaying, too much movement, too much nausea, too much dizziness, too much. Too much. It’s all too much.

　Wait, is Kaito saying something? It’s hard to tell—there’s so much noise in Kokichi’s ears, and none of it is making it to his brain. Come on, Kokichi, focus. Just focus. It should not be this hard to just fucking focus!

　Nothing feels real, everything feels fuzzy, there’s too much noise, too many things, none of it makes sense. It’s too difficult to think. Headache. Pain, somewhere. Something. A lot of things.

　All too much becomes much of nothing. There’s too much going on, and so nothing makes sense, possibly.

　There needs to be less happening, he needs to have less happening. Less. How? Less of what? Erm… Less things for his brain to process? So, less input. Less senses. Less of anything. This makes no sense!

　Just make less. Kokichi covers his ears and squeezes his eyes shut. That’s less, right? Less light, less noise, less objects, less colours, less words, less things. Less pain in his head, that’s good.

　Where is he again? …Oh, right. Kaito’s room. Shit… That means Kokichi just made a fool of himself in front of Kaito. Goddamnit, why is he so pathetic? He can’t even manage social interaction. Pathetic. Utterly pathetic.

　At least he can think properly now. Though, he still feels dizzy. Dizzy and dazed. He probably looks stupid right now, but Kokichi cannot bring himself to move at all.

　Something touches his skin. Cold. That’s cold. He doesn’t like that, too cold. What is that?

　It takes opening his eyes, waiting for his vision to focus, and glancing around a bit before Kokichi discovers the strange, cold object that touched him. Water. Glass of water. Kaito is holding a glass of water. Holding a glass of water out for Kokichi. Water. No. Kokichi doesn’t want the water. Sure, he’s thirsty, but drinking water means moving, and water sounds unappetising. Kokichi does not want to move. Kokichi does not want to drink water. No. Say no. How does he say no?

　Kaito just said something—his lips just moved. Sounds still don’t compute, it seems.

　For a good bit—it feels like forever, but probably was only a minute or so—Kokichi stares at the water, trying to figure out how to decline the offer. Eventually, he remembers to shake his head. Ouch. Note to self; don’t move.

　There’s no more need to keep his eyes open, so Kokichi closes them again.

　God, how did he get so fragile? He was never actually hurt. The killing game was fake. So why did it affect him so much? He was fine (enough) during the game. What changed? Why can’t he even function anymore? Why is he so damn pathetic all of the sudden?

　...Wait. Injuries from the killing game weren’t real, but what about illnesses? Kokichi isn’t poisoned, sure, but that was caused by an injury. Is Kaito still sick? Is it still worsening? Is Kaito going to die?

　Nononono, that cannot happen! That will not happen! Nobody else will die, not again.

　Kokichi cracks his eyes open once more, looking for Kaito. He’s sitting next to him. Right side. Thinking. Not paying attention. Good, that works. With a tad difficulty, Kokichi lowers his hands from over his ears and leans to the side until he collides gently with Kaito. Well, Kokichi thought he was gentle, but the contact makes Kaito jolt in surprise.

　“Oi, whachu doin’?”, followed by a light smack to the back of the head.

　Putting on a façade of drowsiness to the best of his dwindling ability, Kokichi has to ignore just how his head now throbs. “‘m tired.”

　“Oh.” A pause, then Kaito wraps an arm around the other. “I’m a pretty shitty pillow, y’know.”

　“don’t care, shut up.” Kokichi presses himself closer to Kaito’s body. The position is a bit uncomfortable for him, but he has to check. He has to know.

　Luckily, Kaito does actually shut up. Good. That lets Kokichi listen to his breathing.

　...

　Every breath Kaito inhales sounds like the ocean, and every exhale sounds like a tsunami. Likely blood, but just to make sure, Kokichi jabs his elbow into Kaito’s sternum and quickly pulls himself against his shoulder so as to not get coughed on.

　“Wha– hnck!” As expected, Kaito hacks up a lake’s worth of his bloody ocean. A lot of blood. Holy fuck. Kokichi gets so stunned by the sheer amount that he almost doesn’t catch Kaito’s glare. “Th-the hell is wrong with you?!”

　For a second, Kokichi nearly forgets to respond, but he catches himself fast enough that it doesn’t make much of a difference. There’s no point in wasting his energy by pretending, so he opts for sincerity. (Oh, what a rare thing!) “Momota-chan, that’s a lot of blood…”

　Kaito looks down at the splattered mess staining his clothes and bed. “Ya think I don’t already know that?”

　“I think that you shouldn’t try to hide that you’re dying.” Leaning his forehead against Kaito’s shoulder, Kokichi closes his eyes.

　Even though the fuck-tonne of blood in his lap says otherwise—“I’m not gonna die, dipshit!”—he still denies it.

　Too loud. Kaito is too loud. Everything is too loud. Everything is too loud. Too loud. Too loud. Too loud.

　Kokichi doesn’t even realise he is once again covering his ears until Kaito pokes at him to get his attention.

　“Hey, mind lettin’ me up? I need to clean up this, erm, mess.”

　Right. Blood. A lot of blood. Kokichi doesn’t want to see the blood. He doesn’t have to see the blood. He just needs to keep his eyes closed. So, doing exactly that, Kokichi pulls his weight off from Kaito and flops over onto the mattress, now laying down. It’s better than sitting upright, it takes less effort. Less energy.

[mercury-ink-writes]

Last night I posted the next chapter of Jabberwock!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/64881919/chapters/167779102

I'll post the text here in a second

[mercury-ink-writes]

GUYS I NEED HELP TnT

I'm working on the next chapter of Jabberwock, and I want to have dialogue between Kokichi and Kaito, but I DON'T KNOW HOW TO WRITE KAITO

I JUST CANNOT GET INTO CHARACTER

I AM STRUGGLING SO MUCH

Should I keep trying, settle for a kind of off feeling portion, or rewrite that chunk so the dialogue is between Kokichi and someone else (probably would be Shuichi)

[mercury-ink-writes]

Chapter 2 out!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/64881919/chapters/166923865

prepare yourself for Kokichi Ouma struggling with his identity >:3

under the cut is the fic here, for those who want to read it! (and as always, warning for angst, dark themes, and Drv3 spoilers!)

Mercury presents...

Jabberwock

Chapter Two: The Wood (Where Things Have No Names)

　Time passes by slow, slow, slowly, only now that Kokichi wishes it to pass quicker. In the meanwhile, he has been doodling and writing in a notepad he found in the drawer of the nightstand, just trying to entertain himself. So, very slowly, the minutes creep by—and, they eventually do pass into hours until one o’clock strikes. With only a couple of minutes running rogue, a knock on the door breaks the quiet (and, honestly, makes Kokichi jolt). He pushes himself into the rolly-chair and makes his way to the door while bumping into things every which way. Before opening the door, he pauses. He can’t let anyone, especially not a stranger, see him so weak and pathetic that he can’t even stand. Thus, Kokichi pulls himself up onto his feet, using the door-side table now as his support, and (feebly) kicks away the chair.

　When he finally opens the door—using it both to guard himself from whatever may be on the other side, and as even more support to stay standing—Kokichi is more than mildly surprised at the bright smile he is greeted by. That, and the perfectly sky blue eyes shining with just as much cheer as the smile.

　“Helloooo~! Shiori Fujisawa, at your service!” The stranger bows forwards, the choppy tresses of her celadon hair almost seeming to give their own curtsies as well, with the way they bob to her movements.

　Kokichi falters, not entirely sure what to do or say. Should he say hi? Should he try small talk? Should he let her in? Should he introduce himself? Should he even say anything? Should he—

　His thoughts are interrupted before he can even do anything as the girl—Shiori—speaks again.

　“I’ve been assigned as your caretaker,” she cocks her head to the side, scanning Kokichi with curious eyes for a brief moment before she smiles once more, “What’s your name?”

　Almost automatically, he puts on the first mask that comes to mind, and he gives Shiori a child-like smile. “Nishishi~ Don’t you recognise me? The whole wide world should know my name!”

　Without so much as hesitation or confusion, Shiori plays along. “Well, the world is forgetful, so why not remind someone~?” she says as she presses her fingertip to Kokichi’s forehead.

　That simple touch is enough to make him feel as though he is being electrocuted, and he has to suppress both a grimace and a shudder. Puffing out his cheeks, Kokichi pouts like a petty little kid. “Fiiiiine, I guesss I’ll tell you!” With much difficulty, he points a finger at the girl in front of him and declares, “I am Kokichi Ouma, and you better bow down to me!”

　Pretending to be serious, Shiori does as she is told and bows down on one knee, but she doesn’t even try to hide the amused look on her face. “As you say, dearest emperor~”

　After a moment of purely… absorbing this girl’s playful co-operation in visible surprise, a smirk breaks across Kokichi’s lips. Oh-ho-ho, this’ll be fun! He leans in the doorframe, trying to hide his need for support by making the position seem as casual as possible. “As your supreme leader, I order you to bring me food!”

　At that, Shiori chuckles and stands back up, brushing dirt off of her trousers. “That I can do. Anything specific?”

　“Sweets, duhhh! Or something spicy.” Kokichi sticks his tongue out, teasing Shiori. However, she returns the teasing sticking her tongue out too, before she turns to leave with a wave.

　Kokichi feels a bit… disappointed? when Shiori walks off, for some reason. But also relieved at the same time—glad to be able to stop masking. As soon as Shiori is out of sight, Kokichi closes the door and immediately collapses to the floor, pressing his back to the closest wall.

　Ow… His legs are numb and prickling now—that’s probably not good.

　Testing what he can do and feel, Kokichi pinches his thigh (and it certainly hurts as it should), then tries to move his legs, which proves to be quite difficult. His legs feel too heavy, yet also like jelly. It’s probably just that he tired them out by standing, which is really frustrating. God, he is so fucking pathetic and useless, he can’t even stand.

　It takes a lot of effort and time for Kokichi to get a handle over his emotions this time, since the pain—not only in his legs, but his whole body—is like an amplifier, unable to be ignored or allayed.

　In fact, it takes so much time that Kokichi is still wiping away tears when a knock rings out from his door.

　Fuck!

　He does his best to swallow down the suffering lumped in his throat and he scrambles to hoist himself into the chair—his legs still as useless as a dead bird’s wings—before he rolls closer to the door and cracks it open.

　Once more, he is met with the sight of those sky blue eyes.

　Shiori smiles upon seeing Kokichi, and she holds a little tray up into view. “I brought you food Ouma-san! I hope you like at least some of it—I tried my best to get a variety.”

　With a quick scan of the tray, Kokichi sees some good looking things and decides he very much wants the tray. So, in the fashion of a greedy kid, he snatches the tray and shuts the door without a word. He nestles into his chair, holding the tray close to himself as he ponders what to eat first.

　From the other side of the door, Kokichi does hear Shiori mutter something about ‘gremlin’ or whatever, but she doesn’t seem too upset—in fact, she sounds amused—before her footfalls indicate that she is leaving.

　Mochi. He likes mochi. A lot. It’s cold and chewy and smells yummy. So, Kokichi grabs one of the mochi and pops it into his mouth, savouring its satisfying texture. It’s good, very good.

　He also likes curry crisps. He likes the spice and the crunch. These curry crisps have a lot of curry powder on them. They look suuuuper spicy—all the better, they are extra suuuuuuper-duuuper spicy! It’s almost too spicy for Kokichi, and that says a lot seeing how he has a high tolerance. But the crisps are still delicious!

　And there’s also sugar biscuits? Neat-o! Kokichi enjoys how the granular and coarse texture of sugar feels against his tongue; he always has.

　Shiori really knows how to pick out good food! Maybe she would be useful to befriend. Maybe. Maybe Kokichi should keep her around. Maybe. But he absolutely cannot let his guard down. He can’t fuck up again. If there’s one thing that Kokichi has learnt in his life, it’s that trusting someone is like opening his own rib cage and handing them a knife to spear him through the heart. It’s dangerous. It’s painful. It’s reckless. It’s the worst way to bleed out, the worst way to die.

　It hurts so very much when you trust someone enough to give them your joy, then they take it and burn it—with everyone around to see you shatter too, so that you can’t dare to let yourself falter.

　Sometimes Kokichi wonders whether that part was on purpose, whether Shuichi wanted him to break with everyone else there to watch, whether Shuichi really meant it…

　Of course he meant it. He meant it with burning, slicing, ruining intent. He meant it to make Kokichi suffer. He meant it to be unexpected—all the more agonising. And, he did it. Kokichi never imagined Shuichi would hurt him so badly. Yet, he did. Kokichi never imagined Shuichi could even muster to be so hurtful. Yet, he did. Shuichi changed during the killing game—everyone changed. In only a month—no, less than a month—everyone changed so much. So, so much.

　Damnit, he’s crying again. The levee that has been hiding Kokichi’s tears is being ruined—the tears erode it further, and thus it gets shorter, meaning more tears overflow. Well, at least, that’s how it feels. Metaphorically. Or something.

　In such a pathetic way that seeing it would evoke the imagery of a petty child, Kokichi tries to ignore his tears by stuffing another mochi into his mouth. It is really good mochi, but it doesn’t help much with his emotions.

　God, he misses being happy. He misses screwing around, he misses the feeling of laughing so hard he can’t breathe, he misses seeing the others smile, he misses getting to cling to the others, he misses… not being the villain…

　But he ‘is’ Kokichi Ouma, and Kokichi Ouma is always the villain—always has been, and always will be.

　Even though he doesn’t want to be Kokichi Ouma, he is trapped by the walls of what and who everyone else believes him to be, backing him into a corner, forcing him to be Kokichi Ouma. He doesn’t want to be Kokichi Ouma. He isn’t Kokichi Ouma! He doesn’t know who he is, but he isn’t Kokichi Ouma. He is his own person, and he isn’t Kokichi Ouma.

　Except, that’s being selfish. It’s selfish of him to deny that he is Kokichi Ouma, because that means he is denying the fact that he hurt everyone in the simulation—denying that he is the villain. He can’t just become someone else. He is Kokichi Ouma, because he has to be. He can’t be anyone else, there’s nobody else to be. If he isn’t Kokichi Ouma, he’s nobody, and everyone else will still see him as Kokichi Ouma. He is Kokichi Ouma, and he can’t escape that, so he will have to accept it.

　One thing about Kokichi Ouma; he doesn’t passively accept things, he embraces them. Even if he hates it, Kokichi Ouma embraces things. So, Kokichi will do that. He will embrace being Kokichi Ouma, as much as he doesn’t want to be. After all, if he isn’t Kokichi Ouma, he is nobody. So he will begrudgingly accept that he ‘is’ Kokichi Ouma.

[mercury-ink-writes]

I did it!!! I posted Jabberwock on Ao3!!

I got a little confused with things, but I figured it out (I hope)

Also, Jabberwock chapter 2 is halfway done! I have been getting a bit busy, but I should have it finished soon enough :P

https://archiveofourown.org/works/64881919

[mercury-ink-writes]

Here is chapter one of Jabberwock!

As always, warning for angst, panic attacks, dark themes, and Drv3 spoilers!

Continue under the cut

Mercury presents...

Jabberwock

Chapter One: The White Knight Tumbles

　Enough time passes for Kokichi to collect himself—well, enough so that he can focus on his environment more than his emotions. He is still in a lot of pain, but after looking himself over, it appears there aren’t any visible injuries. That’s odd… Kokichi remembers, clear as day, being injured. He remembers being shot with crossbow bolts, how much they hurt, how much more being dragged along the ground by Kaito hurt, and the poison…

　Shit.

　As always, two different thoughts argue for priority in Kokichi’s head, and usually this ends up with neither of them gaining deserved urgency just because of how overwhelming it all gets.

　Okay, deep breaths. Poison. Is he still poisoned? Was he ever poisoned in the first place? Well, seeing how he hasn’t had a seizure yet despite the stress—and the fact he can still breathe, obviously—it’s clear enough to Kokichi that he isn’t poisoned anymore. Or never was…

　Then, what’s next? Kaito… Where is Kaito? Is Kaito even real? Is anything Kokichi remembers real?

　With a glance down at himself, he realises he still isn’t wearing a shirt, and he can’t help but shiver a bit from the cold. Is there any good clothes in this room? Hopefully.

　Carelessly fast enough to fit the Kokichi Ouma he used to be, Kokichi gets off the bed to go get dressed and look for Kaito—he then promptly buckles.

　Ow! Fuck… That hurt.

　He pulls himself to his knees using the bed heavily for support, and eventually manages to stand on his feet. It takes several, several attempts and a lot of falling over before Kokichi can even get to the dresser. Sinking to the floor with a shaky breath, he begins searching through the drawers for something to wear. He ends up settling for an oversized maroon jumper, since it’s comfortable enough.

　He just… he just needs a minute to catch his breath after the whole struggle of getting across the room and dressed. Kokichi leans his head back against the dresser, closing his eyes to ignore the black spots in his vision, and he just tries to breathe. To just breathe. Just breathe.

　Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out.

　Why… why does it feel like something is crushing his chest? He can’t… breathe. He can’t breathe! It feels like a heavy monster is crushing Kokichi’s lungs and tearing at his ribs, and his body aches under its weight, and his vision is blotting dark, and his fingertips are going numb, and he can’t move, and his thoughts are ricocheting around his skull like a rogue pong ball—that pong ball causing quite the headache. Tears swell in his violet eyes, and blaze down his cheeks. He doesn’t understand. Why? Why? Why can’t he breathe? Why won’t it let him breathe? Breathe… He can’t breathe! He can’t breathe… Everything is spinning, everything is going dark, everything hurts. He can’t breathe… He needs… he needs help! He needs to do something, anything, to make this stop! He can’t breathe.

　So, he scrambles to stand up, before everything goes dark. Dark and silent. Dark and silent once more. Just for some while.

___________________________

　Slowly, Kokichi’s eyes flutter open to be met with the warmth of morning light filtering through the window. What happened? Kokichi yawns, lifting his hands to rub his eyes—but he is stopped by the pain that the movement causes. A yelp escapes his throat as he curls in on himself, every little movement causing hurt to crash over his little body.

　Once he recomposes himself (as much as one in constant suffering can), Kokichi takes the time to finally take in his surroundings. It’s a plain looking bedroom with a bathroom, desk, and window too. On the nightstand is a pill bottle and a piece of paper Kokichi failed to notice before. Only issue, can he make it back to the bed without having another… episode? He feels better now than he did before, and not panicking anymore, but what if getting up again makes it happen again?

　This time with care to be slow, Kokichi rises to his feet and stumbles his way to the bed again. Everything hurts. He manages to make it after only falling a few times! But once he collapses into the bed, panting for air, it starts again—the fear, the pain, the crushing pressure on his lungs. The pressure, like a creature. Like a… like a cold, restricting slab of pure metallic pressure… He couldn’t breathe before, he couldn’t breathe… Now, breathing is hard again… What if… he can’t breathe again? What if he can’t breathe? What if he can’t breathe?

　He can’t breathe…

　Kokichi desperately gasps for air, curling up into a ball on the soft mattress and squeezing the comforter in his fists. He can’t feel his lips nor fingers again… He can’t breathe… He can’t breathe… No, no, no, no! Not again!

　As is the typical steel-will of Kokichi Ouma, he is resolute to be able to breathe—more so out of the fear of being pathetic—and thus it will be done. So, Kokichi presses his face into the sheets and tries every variation of ‘controlled breathing’ he could imagine until finally something works. (Although, it certainly leaves him light-headed.)

　For some time, Kokichi just lays there, face-down in the bed, finally able to somewhat breathe.

　Now, what’s next? Kaito. No, that won’t be happening. By now, Kokichi has learnt that trying to walk around only ends in hyperventilation and a, erm… freak-out episode. Maybe he will talk to Kaito later…

　Oh, yeah, there’s that paper. Kokichi pushes himself up from the bed, sitting upright, and reaches over to grab the paper. Gently, he unfolds it and skims it over.

“Dear Participant.

　You may be confused where you are, what happened, and most importantly, why you are not dead. The answer is quite simple. The killing game you have participated in was a scientific simulation, and thus left no physical damage to your body.

　As you recover from the psychological effects of the simulation, Team Danganronpa offers you a place to stay with all your needs fulfilled at no charge. You can stay as long as you would like, or leave whenever you want.

　You will be assigned a caregiver who will, at default, meet with you every day at one pm. You may discuss a different schedule with your caregiver, and if your caregiver is unsatisfactory, you may report them to another staff.

　If you have further questions, your caregiver will be the one to ask.

Good luck on your recovery.

　Team Danganronpa.”

　Kokichi can’t help the frown that twitches at his lips. He glances at the clock on the nightstand, gauging how long he has alone. Three hours, approximately. That’s… enough. Well, it would be enough if Kokichi was able to move around freely, but he’s practically bedridden. At merely the thought, a shudder rattles him. Damnit, he can’t just… just be so pathetic! He can’t be pathetic… But, maybe he is… Shuichi said–

　Kokichi shakes his head (more vigorously than he should) in order to clear away those upsetting thoughts, then flops face-first into the bed again and just lays there.

　He is so bored. And he hates boredom with a burning passion. He needs to find something to do. Something other than struggling and fainting. Hm… there’s a wheel-ie desk chair. If he can get to it, he can use it to get around (and spin around in it until he feels sick!)—it’s a bit closer than the dresser was. However, Kokichi is too tired. Maybe he should try to sleep. Yeah, that’s a good idea. So, Kokichi neatly folds the paper and sets it back onto the nightstand, then wriggles under the covers. He settles in, then finds his current position is a bit uncomfortable, so he rolls over, only to find this position even worse, so he turns over again, then again, then again—for probably a quarter of an hour. (That’s a lot of tossing and turning!)

　Kokichi has come to the conclusion that he is not going to be sleeping any time soon, so he needs something better to do. The chair. He should try to get to the chair now.

　This time, Kokichi decides to stay close to the ground—literally. He has resorted to pitiful crawling to prevent another… breathing episode. Thank goodness it works, otherwise he would be feeling really stupid. He manages to drag himself over and into the chair, all the while conscious of just how stupid he must look. But, eh, who cares about that stuff? Spinny chair makes all the bad thoughts go away! First method of action when in a spinny chair is, obviously, to spin. And spin. And spin some more. And more. And just a tad more.

　He slows to a stop after spinning around plenty enough to make him nauseous, and somehow breathless, so that he can soak in the euphoric sensations of spinny chairs—the tingling in his limbs, the general weakness, his thumping heart, the headache that throbs to that heart’s thuds, and most notably, the way his head still spins and his ears ring in dizziness. It was definitely worth it, spinny chairs are really fun!

　Okay… He needed to do something… Oh, right. There’s medication on the nightstand, he meant to go check out what it was. So, pressing his legs to the floor with about as much strength as a cardboard box holding up a mountain, Kokichi rolls himself back towards the bed and (quite ungracefully) collides with the nightstand. Ouch….

　Shit—the lamp!

　Kokichi scrambles to steady the lamp before it crashes down off the nightstand. That could have ended badly… really badly. But, it didn’t, thank goodness. That was a scare.

　As soon as he can get his hands to stop trembling and his heart to stop hammering, Kokichi picks up the pill bottle and examines the front. Ibuprofen. Nice! Hopefully that will help the unexplained pain deep in his bones—or maybe just the headache. He fishes out a couple of the red little pills and pops them into his mouth, dry-swallowing them before instantly regretting it—the feeling of the medication scratching down in his throat irks him, and he can’t help but grimace in an attempt to not gag. Ew.

　Halfway to distract himself, Kokichi glances up at the clock again. Almost an hour has gone by since last time? He could have sworn a lot less time had passed, but whatever. If time wants to run fast, he’ll let it. He should try, at least, to look halfway alright though, seeing as he probably looks like a mess. So, in his newly-found and quite silly method of utilising the chair, Kokichi manages to roll himself into the bathroom (after only hitting the wall a few times).

　When he manages to hoist himself up high enough, leaning on the sink, to see his reflection, he is surprised. Kokichi had expected to see unfamiliar eyes staring back at him, but no, his reflection is… him. He is staring into the violet eyes of himself; Kokichi Ouma. And, for once, he is too caught by this discovery to start critiquing every flaw the mirror shows him. He just sinks back into the chair and extends his arms in front of himself, staring at his hands. His hands. These are his hands. They are his hands, and they are real. He is real. And the world, it’s real too. Right? Are his memories real? Are the others real? His injuries weren’t real, even though they felt (and still somewhat feel) real. Unless…

　A thought crosses Kokichi’s mind, and he glances down at his trousers. He woke up dressed exactly as he was when he died—or, well, ‘died’. If he really bled, then his trousers really should have blood on them. After all, it’s hard to not get them bloody when you’re dragged across the ground and through your own blood. So, Kokichi wrestles with his belt until he can kick his trousers off, turning them over in his hands for the split second it takes to find red against white. No blood. Then the injuries were a hundred percent fake, and him still being in pain is just pure pathetic.

　He weakly throws the trousers at the wall in frustration with himself, then pulls his knees to his chest to cry again. He shouldn’t even be crying. He is—supposedly—Kokichi Ouma. Kokichi Ouma doesn’t cry, crying is a sign of weakness, and Kokichi Ouma cannot be weak.

　Yet, here he is, crying into his knees. Yet, here he is, unmasked and pathetic. Yet, here he is, broken perhaps beyond repair.

　Yet, here he is, barely Kokichi Ouma.

　Eventually, he manages to get his shit together, and he decides to grab new trousers rather than bothering with the ones he threw. Thus, once again, he rolls around and bumps into walls and just lets himself be carefree for a bit until he reaches his next destination; the dresser, again. This time, finding good clothes—he decides on a pair of generic joggers—and putting them on is much easier and less draining. Still, just the fact he can’t walk or stand reliably is very upsetting. He feels stupid for it, like he is a broken toy that shouldn’t deserve to live. He doesn’t deserve to live! He never did…

　Wallowing in his sorrows will do him no good, so Kokichi bites back his self-loathing to save for later and glances up at the clock again. It is quarter past eleven already. Time is slipping by too quickly. He has less than two hours until he will have to deal with a stranger, and put on a mask he is certain is shattered. If it is shattered, Kokichi needs to take up the remnants of it he has left and piece them together with tape and glue. And that, he will do.

　Slowly, carefully, Kokichi pulls himself out of the chair and onto his feet, using the dresser for much needed support. His legs don’t last long before they abruptly give out and he crashes backwards into the chair, landing flat on the floor and in a lot of pain. Goddamnit! Can’t he just do something right for once?!

　Kokichi curls in on himself, not even noticing the tears streaming down his face, nor the sobs forcibly bubbling from his chest. He has a higher priority; pain. He hit his head when he hit the ground, and it hurts. So he forces one of his hands to move, to run through his hair and ensure he isn’t bleeding. Ever since what happened before the third trial, Kokichi has been extra cautious to check and make sure he doesn’t hurt his head like that again. Well, as cautious as Kokichi Ouma can be. Luckily, he isn’t bleeding.

　When he notices his red-hot tears, he wipes them away quick enough one could think they imagined them, then he sits upright.

　Oh god, his head is spinning… Everything is spinning… He feels motion-sick… Shit.

　Squeezing his eyes shut, Kokichi slumps backwards against the dresser and swallows down the nausea nearly choking him. It was just a stupid fall, why does he feel sick from it? He is such a fucking failure… He can’t stand and he can’t fall. What can he do? He is so useless… So fucking useless…

　So useless and worthless and good for nothing. A terrible friend, a terrible person, a terrible leader. He even fails at being who he is supposed to be—Kokichi Ouma. Who is he, then? Is he Kokichi Ouma? Did Kokichi Ouma ever truly exist? Or was Kokichi Ouma just a simulated concept? Is Kokichi Ouma real? Is… is Kaito real? Or Shuichi? Or any of the others? That is something Kokichi needs to find out. He can’t live with just not knowing.

　Hence, with that revelation, Kokichi lifts himself back into the chair and rolls towards—well, more like straight into—the door.

　There’s a key on the table here right by the door. Must be the room key. Kokichi pockets it for later.

　Then, he opens the door and gets to his feet, bracing himself on the wall to stay upright. Carefully, with one foot in front of the other and his breathing kept in constant check, Kokichi creeps out of the dorm-like room and into the hall. With just a glance around, it becomes quite clear who each room belongs to—each door has a name plaque. Lucky for Kokichi, he can see Kaito’s room is only a few doors down. He can make it that far. Probably. All he has to do is keep on his feet and breathe deeply.

　The door gives a light click when closed behind him, and the floor sounds with quiet noises from Kokichi’s footsteps. Surprisingly, Kokichi manages to make it to Kaito’s room without falling or getting out of breath.

　However, when it comes time for him to knock on the door, he hesitates. A pit eats at his stomach like a black hole of dread.

　What if Kaito is angry? What if Kaito sees how pathetic he is? What if Kaito yells at him, or hits him, or hates him? What if Kokichi has another episode? Can he really trust Kaito?

　...No…

　He can’t trust Kaito, not enough. So, Kokichi turns around and goes back into ‘his’ own room, locking the door and curling up in bed. He doesn’t want to socialise right now. He doesn’t want to take risks right now. He doesn’t want to think right now. He doesn’t want to live right now… He just wants to… to be relieved of his suffering. Just to be freed. But, that’s unrealistic, so he might as well forget about it.

[mercury-ink-writes]

Pinned post time because I’m bored!

Hello, I am Mercury! I use they/it pronouns. If you are one of my friends I showed this blog, please still call me Mercury on Mercury-Ink related things (this blog and ao3)!

I’m not against people knowing my main blog, but I’m trying to keep a divide between this sideblog and my more professional one, so I won’t be linking my other blogs here and my other blogs won’t link here.

I am a writer attempting to get better at putting my ideas to paper through fanfic!

I will mostly be writing drv3/kokichi fanfic, I’m sure, but there might be some other fandoms in there.

Expect a lot of angst and hurt from my fics, and certainly do not expect romance or spicy stuff! I do not write spicy stuff.

My Ao3 is Mercury_Ink_Writes

My posting schedule, both here and for fanfiction, will be irregular.

If you like my writing, please engage with it! It keeps me motivated to write more! If you want to see a fic idea, I am open to submissions/requests, but I pick and choose.

Here are my tags;

#help me with writing fanfics - this tag is for any ideas I have, or any time I need help

#mercuryink fic - this is for any actual fics I write and post

#jabberwock fanfic - this is specifically for posts regarding my fanfic called Jabberwock. The Ao3 is linked here and the Tumblr post for Chapter Zero is here if you want to read it

[mercury-ink-writes]

Here is chapter zero of my first fic!

It is a Danganronpa V3, Kokichi-centric, post game, angst fic, so warnings for dark content, angst aplenty, and spoilers for Danganronpa V3.

Continue under the cut and please enjoy!

Mercury presents...

Jabberwock

Chapter Zero: Into the Looking-Glass

　Darkness. Darkness and silence. That is all there is. Darkness and silence is all there is.

　　…

　Until there isn’t.

　Something warm—burning, in fact—shatters the darkness, shatters the silence. Instead of dark, there is bleary-eyed vision, and instead of silence, there are endless thoughts. And pain. That burning, that’s what it is. Pain.

　Kokichi jolts upright, his body already doing him the favour of panicking before his mind can even grasp onto the notion, and the only thing in his grasp is the instinctual hugging of himself.

　Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain means blood. Where is the blood? Where is the blood? Where?

　As his mind runs marathons, his body stays frozen—at least, in terms of conscious movement. After all, everything hurts, nothing is familiar, there is no comfort, and there is no sense. Only pain. Pain, and panic. That is all there is. Pain and panic is all there is.

　　　…

　Until there isn’t.

　Another thing awakens in this new world—a cold, demeaning thing. Consciousness. Awareness. Life. A gasp 　of air manages to make it past the hyperventilating of his lungs, then tears manage to make it into his unfocussed eyes, and Kokichi finally finds himself in a reality. Is he still Kokichi? Was he ever truly Kokichi? Who he is, he doesn’t know, but in a world so already chaotic, he will settle with the Occam’s razor solution—he is Kokichi Ouma, as far as he knows.

　Yet, here he is, crying into his knees. Yet, here he is, unmasked and pathetic. Yet, here he is, broken perhaps beyond repair.

[mercury-ink-writes]

OKAY GUYS

I DID IT

I came up with a few fic ideas already, and I have started writing!

I am still waiting on my Ao3 account to get verified, but I am so excited!

Most of my stuff will definitely be Drv3 because yes.

[mercury-ink-writes]

GUYS I DID IT

I BRAINSTORMED A GOOD FIC IDEA

A LOTR DRV3 CROSSOVER FIC WHERE PIPPIN AND OUMA SWAP PLACES AND NOBODY ELSE KNOWS

IS THIS EVEN A GOOD IDEA?? IDFK BUT I'M EXCITED BECAUSE IT'S AN IDEA

[mercury-ink-writes]

Guys I don't know what to writeeee

I really want to write a fic and put it on Ao3 but what should the fic be about???

I mean, it could be DrV3 as I have a lot of ideas, but I don't feel like I could portray all the characters I would need to correctly. So should I write a fic that only really, like, has a few characters getting much screen time,or should I just take the character I'm most comfortable writing and put him in an oc universe where all other characters are my ocs??? guys help

Should I elaborate on my ideas? idk I'm losstttt

I have so many ideas but penning them to paper is a huge struggle!