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u3pxx · 1 month

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KIM KITSURAGI - “Is that. My kineema.”

COMPOSURE [Medium: Success] - Something in him is about to break, *big time*.

EMPATHY - And it’s not going to be pretty, do something!

- DRAMA [Formidable] - Everything is fine!

- “Sure is.”

DRAMA [Formidable: Failure] - Surely he’s aware that he’s not the *only* person in the world who owns a Kineema?

YOU - “Is it really *yours*? I mean, plenty of people have their own Kineemas, right? Like working men, government offices, uh, firefighters I guess, maybe even animal control people? Exactly! A million different people who could’ve driven it into the uh…”

DRAMA - Pause, my liege! Ixnay on the Ineemakay!

YOU - “It could even be our *mysterious* joyrider!”

KIM KITSURAGI - Your frenzied babbling falls deaf to the lieutenant's ears. Instead, he approaches the broken vehicle, sunken in the ice. He moves with a caution and gentleness you haven’t seen him display before.

INLAND EMPIRE - It must be cold and lonely down there, in the icy water. Maybe he could sense its sorrow, calling to him…

PERCEPTION (SIGHT) [Easy: Success] - His hands, which are always stiffly placed behind his back, are trembling.

ENDURANCE - This is the shuffle of a tired, tired man.

HALF LIGHT - He’s going to do something drastic because of you. Oh god, terrible! You’re a terrible liar! You can’t look at this, you just can’t!

VOLITION [Formidable: Success] - It's not *you* who drove his kineema into the sea. You have plenty of faults, but this one is decidedly not yours.

KIM KITSURAGI - He kneels down with his head bowed, casting his face in shadow. He plants a hand on the ice to stabilize himself, squinting to get a better view of the motor carriage. “Detective, it says ‘57’ on it.”

YOU - Sweat drips down your brow, and you feel a terrible headache coming. “Maybe our joyrider has an affinity for that number?”

LOGIC - He's not stupid, he knows that it's not that.

KIM KITSURAGI - “57.”

YOU - “What about 57?”, you brace yourself.

KIM KITSURAGI - “Precinct 57.”

YOU - You wince. “Kim, look-”

KIM KITSURAGI - “When I woke up in the Whirling-in-Rags with no memory of what happened during the days before, I've taken note that something of mine has gone missing.” He grits his teeth. "A very. Important. Something."

He runs his hands over his face, messing his already unkempt hair in the process. Regret creeps up on his features. “God. Fuck. They’re going to fire me over this, they’re not going to hear me out.”

EMPATHY - Desperation settles in the lieutenant's tone. Sadly, you find yourself in agreement, even if you don’t want it to be the truth.

YOU - “People are more valuable than machines, Kim.”

KIM KITSURAGI - “Not people like me.” He rasps.

YOU - “…”

KIM KITSURAGI - Before you can say anything more, you fail to notice the lieutenant carefully walking onto the edge of the ice. He looks over the frigid water, a dizzying blue that mirrors and distorts his exhausted face back to him.

YOU - “Kim?”

KIM KITSURAGI - Seconds pass as he looks to be contemplating something. Out of nowhere, he casually takes another step where the ice ends and the sea begins. It happens all too quick for the lieutenant to even voice a call for help— if he even wanted to — his body plunging into the cold water before your eyes.

YOU - “KIM!!!!”

uhhh bonus stuff? sorry i have swap au brainworms pfttt

(im not sure what skills kim has at the moment so rn he only has narration as his inner monologue ok whoops, i would like to keep harry as the guy who thinks in dialogue trees so im still figuring it out pfttt)

also, this was done bc i wanted to expand on these old scribbles of mine, just like an idea, i just think that he'd be having an even worse time wheezes

#disco elysium #kim kitsuragi #harry du bois #den's disco swap #disco elysium role swap #HI nobody look at the fact that. i am a novice writer at best DFGHJFGH #i had idea for some comic dialogue but it ended up being this instead whoops. i mean i could still draw this as a comic #anyways. i was like. trying to reverse engineer my idea of how kim can change into his bomber jacket instead of his uniform.#which. i dont think you can do with just simple convincing bc that thing is fused to him in spirit so there has to be like a good reason wh #oh it gets ruined! how? it gets like wet or smth! how'd that happened? he threw himself into the sea #also isnt it fitting that my memory problems is making me not remember the things that happen in disco elysium very well wheezes #so whoops if the characterization is a lil off lmaoooooo #but i have been trying to figure out how i want harry to be in this swap au #i dont think he's as well as he wants you to believe he is. and just the image of him pushing this 'youre allowed to be in denial about +#this' to kim about the kineema was so vivid in my head and idk if that tracks but hell. its in there now dfghdjfg #starry don't look #sunnysidedraws #sunnysidedisco

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wishluc · 4 months

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Hi!!! I was wondering if you’d be willing to write a yan!alhaitham/Kaveh or heizou for a fem!reader? Anything else is up to you! Totally cool if not tho - love the blog!!!

CW: Yandere! Kaveh (though on the subtler side), drunk Kaveh, manipulation, Reader makes poor decisions

PAIRING: Y! Kaveh x Fem! Reader

I really like Kaveh ♡ Sorry this took some time! Supposed to be a drabble but...(Happy Holidays!)

In retrospect, the first time was already a mistake.

It was hardly a sensible decision to make, but given his pitiable state and your bleeding heart, you couldn't just leave him slumped over behind some building in the city. Kaveh had always been friendly with you, sparing you a warm smile and going out of his way to make light conversation when he bumped into you, though the two of you weren't exactly close, and it would be heartless to walk away from him when you had a perfectly good room that he could stay in for the night. It wasn't the best idea you had—most things involving unfamiliar men weren't—but it would be the right thing to do, wouldn't it?

It's exhausting, having to drag an inebriated Kaveh down the streets of Sumeru City, but after a couple of gentle attempts at introducing yourself and making your intentions known, Kaveh seems to sober up a little. He rubs at his eyes and mumbles something incoherent, still stumbling on his feet as he tries to walk, but him being able to support some of his own body weight is enough to make the journey noticeably less strenuous on you and your conscience.

You lose yourself in nervous chatter while guiding him down the stairs and past large gates. You tell him about mundane things regarding your job and stories from your time in the Akademiya, and updates on the project you've been working on; the one he took special care to ask about whenever he saw you. (Kaveh was always so thoughtful, remembering the littlest of details. The kind of person who'd wait for you in the mornings with the snacks that always sold out before you could make it after you had mentioned it to him once. The kind of person you couldn't leave in such a vulnerable state.) In response, Kaveh only hums and yawns, his head bumping into yours and his arm almost sliding off you. He must have had more to drink than you thought.

When you first saw him sitting out on his own, you wondered where his housemate was, and if you should try to contact him. But you figured Alhaitham had a strict routine he abided by and wouldn't like being bothered at such a time, and the two of them may have gotten into a fight; which was far from an uncommon situation. For a minute again you consider taking him to the scribe, but one thought of the indifferent—or perhaps more likely, irritated—look he might shoot you and you stick to getting home as soon as possible.

At your doorstep, you sit Kaveh down beside you with a quiet sigh of relief and search your pockets for your keys. His head lolls sideways against your legs, his unkempt hair brushing against the side of your calves. You'd think it was endearing if not for how awkward the position was. After a few moments of struggling, you push the door open and lean over to lift up the dozing man again. But when your hands go to pull his face away from your legs and lean him against the wall instead, Kaveh slowly blinks and looks at you with a dazed look in his eye.

It dawns on you then that your position—crouched over him with your hands on his cheeks—coupled with where you had taken him, would look extremely suspicious to someone just waking up from a drunken nap.

"It's not what it looks like!" You cry out, immediately letting go of him. His head flops against the wall and you wince.

Kaveh blinks again, unaffected by the sudden movement, and says your name with a slight frown.

"You were passed out outside and I thought you might need a place to stay," you splutter, "I really wasn't going to—to—do anything else!"

Kaveh groans instead, a hand over his eyes, "Can we...talk later?"

"Sure! I'll just help you to the spare room—if that's alright? I'll leave right after, I swear, and—"

He reaches out for your hand with his free one, and you scramble to carefully pull him up. With a little effort on your side, you manage to take him to his bed for the night, ignoring the growing discomfort of having his head buried into the side of your neck at an uncomfortable angle. It wasn't like he was aware of what he was doing, anyway.

You catch a sigh of gratitude when you slowly lower him onto the sheets and tug off his shoes, and it's enough to make you feel like bringing him here was ultimately the right thing to do, even if a little out of the ordinary.

The next morning, Kaveh apologises to you profusely over breakfast.

“I can’t believe you brought me all the way here. I’m really embarrassed—I’m usually not so careless when I go out,” Kaveh only pauses his rambling when you fill his plate again, sending you yet another bashful look before continuing to eat.

“I’m sure anyone would have tried to help if they were in my position."

“Thank you, really. I’m…glad someone cared that much.”

You take in his slumped shoulders and the relief in his eyes. His mouth is drawn into a straight line and you find yourself making an offer without thinking.

“Kaveh," you begin, "if you ever need someone to talk to, you could always come here. I’ll be happy to have you.”

His eyes widen, "I don't want to trouble you again."

"It's alright," foolishly, you don't let yourself think over it for a moment longer, "I don't mind helping out when I can."

You know it's mostly out of pity, far from a sincere offer, and clearly not a rational one. But Kaveh is nice, you reason with yourself, he's polite enough to never take you up on it. And even if he did, he'd be considerate enough to not stay too long. You were certain that you knew all there was to know about Kaveh from the cordial smiles and the tranquil mornings. Certain that you would not regret the offer.

You start seeing Kaveh more, after what feels like an abrupt shift—far more than you ever had in your years of staying here. At every opportunity, he would make sure to ask you about your day (listening, you note, with unnecessary eagerness and an onslaught of questions you pretended not to have time for), and offer to have a meal with you. Each time, you find another reason to decline him. You even struggle to find a polite reply to his increasingly intimate compliments; from commenting on your outfits, the clips in your hair, and the color of your eyeshadow to your smile and the sound of your laugh. You thank him, your voice hollow, while desperately wondering when he'd run out of things to say.

It's not that you don't like Kaveh; it was only that his newfound interest in you was starting to be distressing.

But it wasn't enough reason for you to be suspicious.

He shows up, a week or so later, a little less drunk but far more talkative, and your evening is spent learning all about the fight he had with Alhaitham. You don't tell him that you agree with his housemate (if only out of courtesy), but you can't hide your shock when he casually mentions his bankruptcy.

"It's not that bad," he rushes to assure you, "I'm working towards fixing things. It'll still be a while before I can move out, but things could be worse."

You accept his explanation, realizing that there was no point in admitting that you were now certain that Alhaitham was right to chide him about his spending habits. Instead, you offer to let him stay for the night to cool down before going back. He beams at you and thanks you profusely, and you decide against commenting on the overnight bag he brought with him.

You wake up the day after to find Kaveh preparing breakfast in your kitchen.

"It's the least I can do for you," he says, carefully bringing over two plates to the table. He blushes when you thank him, and when he places your mug next, you're surprised to find that he's made you your usual drink. You pretend it doesn't bother you that he already knows how much sugar and milk you prefer to have and match his smile with a weak one.

Questions can wait until after breakfast, you think. Or after he's out of your house. But while you're halfway done with your meal, Kaveh hasn't even had a bite of his. His eyes are glued to your face with an expectant look in them.

"...It's very good." you swallow what feels like sand and rubber in your mouth, "thank you."

Kaveh grins before finally starting to eat. Was it his eagerness to please that made it difficult for him to hold on to money, too?

He takes your plate before you can stand up and goes to wash them, ignoring your protests. You've never felt more like a guest in your own home, but Kaveh's humming under his breath while scrubbing at your plate, still donning your apron.

"It's the least I can do for you," he parrots.

He eventually leaves, dragging his feet out sometime before midday with a somber look back at you. You only hope your smile doesn't betray your relief as you wave him off, anticipating lounging around without another lingering presence.

Some mornings Kaveh walks with you, arm pressed too close to yours and eyes on you. He picks up on every flicker of interest, offers to buy you the small trinkets that you pause to run your fingers over, and folds into himself every time you turn him down. It's only pity that forces you to swallow down any signs of discomfort when he reaches out for your fingers moments later, but Kaveh is oblivious to it all. He brightens up and tells you instead about the details of his latest projects. You hum, hoping your stiff fingers send the message for you. It goes unheeded; Kaveh is observant, but only when he wants to be. He's good at ignoring signs, too, when they upset him.

When he has to leave for a long trip into the desert, he frowns and drags his feet throughout the entirety of the morning. He looks at you, catches the concern in your face, and immediately springs upon you an invitation.

"It'll just be us two for a whole month," he says, as though you should find the prospect enticing, "and you've never been, have you? You'd love it there."

The sweetness of his voice candies the nightmarish reality of such a trip. Honestly, you might have entertained the plan if he wasn't always giving you strange looks and standing too close. A whole month, alone in an unfamiliar place with Kaveh? Your fingers curl into themselves as you shake your head. You mechanically recite an excuse from the top of your mind, meshing together mentions of work and obligations. Kaveh tries again, to lure you in with promises of adventure and excitement, but you take a moment to think of spending hours cramped with him and sharing meals only with him, and your refusal is stauncher this time.

The distance and time spent so far apart, you hope, would make him realize how uncomfortable his constant proximity was.

A week into Kaveh's absence, you find that you've never felt so excited to step out in the mornings. The days feel lighter, the mandatory trips out less daunting, and talking to people comes with an ease you've missed. A letter—the first of many—arrives and lays unopened on your desk.

You've fallen back into your usual (pre-Kaveh) routine by the start of the second week, and everyone around picks up on and fusses over your brighter demeanor. Despite this, you still have to bite back the frustration at the lingering mentions of your friend Kaveh and his whereabouts.

Nearing the end of the third week, you meet someone you've only ever been able to catch a glimpse of from afar on your way back home. Alhaitham regards you with a glint of curiosity and his mouth set in a straight line. He's more captivating up close, you realize—something you hadn't thought was possible—almost like a doll with the unusual color of his eyes and his impassive expression.

"Kaveh mentions you a lot," he says, in lieu of a greeting, "but I suppose that should come of no surprise to you."

"He talks about you, too."

He raises an eyebrow, sleek and fluid, "I don't expect that he would find me as pretty or as charming as he makes you out to be."

Your smile falters, "I don't think—"

"I received a letter from him the other day, and he asked me to check up on you. I think you would know why that may be."

"I haven't had the time to respond to him," you attempt to explain, "it's not on purpose."

"It doesn't matter to me," Alhaitham replies, "and I won't be writing back to him either. I only thought you'd want to know of this," then, after a brief pause, "You're too kind to him."

His parting words, coupled with a polite smile, sound almost like a warning to you. As he seamlessly falls back into his usual route, you wonder if it would have been the right choice, after all, to simply send Kaveh back to his housemate that night. At least, you're certain the unhappy looks would have been far more welcome than this puzzling conversation.

And maybe you are too kind to him. Too tolerant of his many unannounced visits, too sympathetic to his drunken admissions. Too careful of his feelings and too accommodating of his proximity despite how it troubles you. Maybe you should tell him to go home the next time he shows up, bottles of wine in hand. Put your foot down, and make it clear that you'd like to be alone.

Maybe you will try.

Kaveh stands, shifting on his feet by your door a few days later; earlier than you had expected him. As you approach the door from behind him, you entertain the notion of running away, but he turns around almost immediately, as though sensing your presence.

He's flushed, wringing his hands together, "it's been some time, hasn't it?"

He smiles at you and it's deceivingly warm. Your own smile is plastered on.

"I hope your trip went well."

He shrugs, then hesitates for a moment, "I missed you. Did you get my letters?"

You nod. Kaveh's smile grows tight.

"I didn't get anything back, so I figured..."

You stare at the bag beside him, "there was nothing for me to say. Nothing new to tell you about."

Kaveh follows your gaze and goes to pick it up, "for you," he says, and your stomach drops.

"I thought we could have dinner together."

"I already had my dinner," you tell him, gentler than you had hoped to sound; as though coaxing a distressed animal, "I'm heading to bed now. You should go back too, Kaveh. You must be tired."

"I don't mind. I can even spend the night here."

No, you think.

"I don't know," you say instead, "I'm really tired."

He steps forward, "just for a while? I really missed you."

At your lack of a reaction, Kaveh tries again, with yet another step forward, "I don't really want to go back yet. Alhaitham...wasn't happy with me taking up this job. I wanted some time before—"

He cuts himself off and sighs.

"But you're right, I should be on my way." He sends one last glance to the paper bag leaning by the wall and then a sorrowful look at you, before going to leave. You're reminded of his efforts; of the money he shouldn't waste on you and the letters he carefully wrote out. The sky, cloudy and restless, was starting to grow dark.

One night shouldn't hurt too much. You could talk to him in the morning, when the both of you are well rested, and you're certain he'd understand then. Certain that he wouldn't see through you and shut you down before you could even start.

You never learn from your mistakes, do you?

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