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woodrokiro · 3 years

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Do It For the Band, Part Six (fic)

Fandom: Bleach

Pairing: IchiRuki

Summary: When Tatsuki said she wanted their sophomore album to be the next Rumours, this is NOT what she meant. Band AU. Read Part One, Two, Three, Four, and Five.

Tatsuki never thought she’d live to see the day that she has to drag herself to jam with her friends.

Sure, she’s been pretty hung over on some of her work days; but she was always, always able to pull herself out of bed, pop a couple of Tylenol and be on her way to make a racket. It made no sense how she could still be giddy to beat some loud drums when she had a throbbing headache - but.

She loved it. She loved her band.

She still does… But she hates Ichigo right now.

Ichigo, who’s being a real insensitive dick. Ichigo, who went on a date with Orihime, aka her-best-friend-aka-longtime-love-of-her-life-maybe-who-knows-she-never-got-a-chance-to-find-out-cuz-of-her-dickwad-friend.

Ichigo, who is doing this as some stupid fucking vendetta against Rukia, or to forget her, or whatever the fact is being a dumbass and everyone is having to pay for it.

Needless to say: she’s worked herself up to a pretty furious state by the time she rages to practice.

She stomps over to Chad’s garage, viciously lifting the the heavy door while simultaneously (unreasonably) half expecting to be faced with the sight of Ichigo and Orihime making out -

When her eyes adjust to see into the garage, there’s none of that (thank God). They’re not even next to each other. Instead, she’s met with a very different sight.

Ichigo’s stewing in the corner, hands stuffed in his pocket and visibly grinding his teeth. Chad is sitting quietly next to him but definitely trying to blend himself into the shadows more than usual. Orihime is looking down at her hands across the room, silent and stiff.

And Rukia is plugging her phone into their speaker jack rather manically.

“Ah, good afternoon Tatsuki!” Rukia greets the drummer with a too-large, sparkling smile that she recognizes as Rukia’s favorite mask to put on when she’s pissed. The vocalist has noticeable bags under her eyes from… Lack of sleep? Crying? Who knows. Her heart cracks for her.

The pity doesn’t last long when Rukia continues, sickly-sweet. “Since Ichigo was so kind to tell us we should start working on new stuff - “

“Woah woah woah, I didn’t tell you - ”

“My mistake!” Rukia sends Ichigo a somehow-withering smile that could kill. “You’re so right, we all agreed. In any case, I decided to start sooner rather than later. I recorded a quick version by myself last night at - oh, I don’t know, two A.M. - and sent it to Urahara by five.”

Ichigo’s foot starts tapping as he leans forward, arms crossed. “You sent something to Urahara without showing us first?”

“He said he liked it, but to get it passed through you guys. Of course I agreed, so… Here we are.” Rukia’s not looking at him any further, instead sending a hard glance to Tatsuki.

The drummer knows it’s not really directed at her - more like a woman’s communication-without-words kind of thing - but she finds herself gulping anyway.

Here we are indeed.

Oh you got stars in your eyes, baby

If you think this will work

I won’t follow your galaxies

Won’t fall for that fucking smirk.

When will you realize the stars were never yours?

Never at any time, never at any time.

The song has turned to pure obliteration by the end. Rukia’s voice intentionally fades out at the finish, but not without absolute raw emotion, pure fury that leaves goosebumps on Tatsuki’s skin.

Rukia stands in the middle of the garage, hands on her hips, looking proud and dangerous and fiery as she stares straight back at Ichigo’s stone-faced glare.

Good for her, Tatsuki thinks before remembering: wait. She shouldn’t be rooting for this.

This is the beginning of a war.

As if on cue, Ichigo clears his throat, raising his chin to match Rukia’s arrogance.

“Great work, Kuchiki. Way better than anything you’ve done so far, I’d say.”

Rukia’s nostrils flare. “Is that a comment on my previous work?”

“Not at all. Just… Inspires me to step up my game. In fact…” Ichigo stands up, dusting off his pants. “Is it cool with you all if I cut out early? Think I have some writing to do too, alone.”

“Absolutely not, Ichigo.” Tatsuki is shaken out of watching the trainwreck that’s her life. “Chad, Orihime and I did not come here for you to cut out without even practicing - “

“No, I think it’s fine, Tatsuki.” Rukia’s eyes glint with a challenge. “We can practice… Without Ichigo.”

An excruciating silence follows. Tatsuki can practically hear Ichigo’s teeth crack beneath his grinding.

“... I can wait to write.” He roughly grabs his guitar, quickly getting to work on tuning it. “Teamwork is important. We’re nakama, after all.”

Something about the pointed word visibly causes the keyboardist to flush, but she starts to unplug her phone from the speaker jack anyway.

The next hour of practice may just be the most painful hour in Tatsuki’s life.

She thought she might have an idea of what happened between Ichigo and Rukia from Rukia’s song Celestial Lies - okay, so Ichigo broke a promise? - but seeing what kind of songs follow after that practice from both of them leaves it all… A little muddled.

The next day, Ichigo sends the group chat audio of a break up song.

Eyes softly gazed

Heart breaking stare

Who knew you’d crush me

Lying is your best jewelry you wear.

Everyone hits a wary thumbs up reaction except Rukia, who hours later only replies: Did Urahara approve of this one?

Yes. Ichigo sends back at a neck-breaking speed…

Followed by a :).

A few days later, Rukia sends another audio.

It only took you ten days to realize

I wasn’t good enough, but no one’s ever good enough

No one’s ever nice enough,

No one’s ever fucked you enough

Called your bluff enough

Said your name like a God enough.

Now Ichigo’s response is a weird song about a siren with lavender eyes feasting on a golden-haired sailor’s skull, and Tatsuki didn’t know what to think happened but frankly? She doesn’t care.

She calls Urahara immediately.

“You know what this is gonna do to us, right?!” She shouts into the phone. “This isn’t doing anything but hurting the band, letting them go at it like this!”

Urahara - to his credit - listens patiently from the other end as she explodes. He has the decency to voice his sympathies, that it must be really tough working in a group with… So many opinions.

“These aren’t opinions. These. Are. Fatalities.” She grits out.

“I understand, Tatsuki-san, but…” She can nearly hear their manager shrug. “This is… How good music is made. I hate what it’s doing to your nerves, but you have to understand that this is how I get you guys out there.”

“At the expense of our friendship? What kind of manager are you -”

“A good one.” His voice drops low, suddenly serious in a way she’s never heard before. “What would you have me do, Tatsuki-san? Tell everyone to stop writing mean songs? Have them hug it out? You know that does nothing for any of us.”

“That’s not what I’m... “

“Tatsuki.” His voice lifts, a bit gentler. “This is what you all wanted, what you’re working hard for. Whether or not they get through this… Nobody can say. But that’s not gonna change whether or not they stop writing these stellar pieces. You know how good they are. So… I hate to tell you, but you’re gonna have to suck it up. Enjoy it while it lasts. It might make your career.”

She hangs up immediately, knowing he won’t be offended.

He knows that she knows he’s right.

Almost like a God-sent gift for Tatsuki’s suffering, Orihime breaks it off with Ichigo after only a few weeks.

The relationship ends - quite spectacularly - in disaster after a couple of dates… Just as Tatsuki thought it would, but hey. She’s not going to gloat about it, only promises whatever deity is responsible a huge offering the next time she happens upon a shrine.

She hears all about it from Orihime, of course - she’s way too pissed at Ichigo to speak to him about anything besides business - who tells her they got a couple of drinks, dinner a few times.

“It’s a very nice time! But he’s not… It’s…” She sighs forlornly and it makes Tatsuki hurt for her.

“He hasn’t made any moves, huh.”

The stage manager shakes her head, suddenly grabbing her water to keep the tears misting her eyes at bay.

Tatsuki wants to kill him.

“He said I looked nice. He opens the doors for me, pulls out my chair, pays for my bill. He and I have… Fun, I think. At least I do - and he’s very kind, such a gentleman -”

“It’s okay, Orihime. You can say it: he fucking sucks.”

Orihime laughs a watery laugh. “No, nothing like that. I just… This Rukia thing. It’s so… Intense, right? In practice? I should’ve known. I feel so stupid.”

“... Orihime.” The drummer puts her hand on her friend’s shoulder. “Nobody could’ve known. Had I known? You’d find me on a cruise ship, drumming for some dumb cover band.”

“You make jokes like that, Tatsuki, but you’re the band’s lifeline.” Orihime shakes her head, blinking back tears. “I just… Rukia is so… Goodness, she’s lovely. And talented. And so, so kind - “

“Orihime - “

“And I’m not one to be jealous, I know I’ve only known Ichigo for about a month now so I’m really not too upset about that. But I’d - I’d love to be someone’s first choice like that. I’d love to be the person that someone wants to write songs about, that inspires someone so much. Because that anger that’s coming through their songs… That’s them caring, you know? That’s them caring so much that good or bad, they want the whole world to know, and yeah I don’t love the bad so much but I do love love and want to be cared about like that one day but I’m not as smart or talented as Rukia-chan so - “

Tatsuki interrupts her by firmly pressing her lips to Orihime’s, her hands snaking into her gorgeous auburn hair and suddenly: everything is perfect, angels are singing and if she died at this very moment she would be too blissed out to fight it.

She briefly breaks it off, nudging Orihime’s forehead with her own. “Rukia is also my friend, but don’t get it twisted. They’re both absolute shits.”

Orihime laughs, smiling softly at the drummer before she goes back in and Tatsuki thinks band drama?

Who gives a fuck.

Her new girlfriend calls her the next day to say she’s told Ichigo, and Tatsuki sighs. She was about to enjoy her morning by smoking a joint, but. Priorities, she guesses.

She arrives at Ichigo’s apartment door within the hour, banging until he opens it.

“Y’know, how you get beyond the buzzer at the building entrance is beyond me - “

Tatsuki wastes no time. “Orihime told you, yeah?”

Ichigo rolls his eyes, but a rare, small smile betrays him. “Yeah, she told me. Congratulations.”

“Thanks. You mad?”

“What? No. Of course I’m not mad.”

“Cool. ‘Cuz what the ever-loving fuck, Ichigo.”

“... Not sure what you mean.” Ichigo’s eyes turn to flint as understanding dawns on him, and he’s about to close the door when she stomps on his foot.

“Tatsuki, what the hell--”

“Don’t ever try to do that to me again. What is this all about?”

“God, we didn’t have a - Orihime and I are friends! It’s all been worked out! What do you care, you got your girl - ” He shuts his mouth at the giveaway as Tatsuki narrows her eyes.

“Is that what this is about? You didn’t get your girl so you tried to get mine?”

“No, Tatsuki. I had no idea you liked her, I would’ve never had - and what do you mean ‘my girl’?!”

She ignores the question and chooses instead to ask in reply: “Have you talked to Rukia?”

A beat.

“... We’re not discussing this, Tatsuki.”

“Like, really talked to her? ‘Cuz I know you, and a whole lot of this bullshit could’ve been avoided had you just - “

“I’m not discussing this with you Tatsuki.” He looks down at his phone, lighting up the screen to look at the time. “Look, there’s a few more hours until practice and I wanted to get in some writing - “

“Of course you do.”

“... Just do me a favor. Please? Don’t - don’t ask me to talk about that stuff. You’re my friend and you scare the shit out of me - but I’m drawing the line there. Unless it has something to do with the band - “

She’s getting pissed all over again. “Ichigo, you know it effects the band - “

“We’re professional.” He snaps, and the quick show of temper stuns Tatsuki. He’s never had the nerve to talk to her like that, ever.

She’d be impressed if it wasn’t for the circumstances.

“... Congrats again on you and Orihime. I’ll see you two at practice tonight.”

He slams the door.

“... And you can kick my ass for doing that, later!” His muffled shout sounds from the other side of the door.

Tatsuki leaves in a hell of a less good mood than when she came.

#ichiruki #bleach #ichigo kurosaki #rukia kuchiki #my stuff

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danganronpa-21 · 3 years

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Naegiri Week Day 3 - Sunset

Happy third day of Naegiri Week! In my personal opinion, this is probably my favourite piece that I’ve written this year. It’s a sweet one with just a twinge of angst. As with the past two pieces, I have no warnings to issue aside from a little bit of graphically violent metaphor. It’s a blink and you’ll miss it kind of thing though, so there’s no need to worry too much. I hope you enjoy the piece, and that I have done our beautiful couple some justice.

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A boy and a girl stood on top of the school building; their gazes turned towards the sky. The day was in the process of dying slowly, the natural cerulean fading away, melting into colours the likes of which they almost never got to see. Life so often dragged them away from something as simple as watching the sky’s transitions. Before, when the times would begin to change, they would spend their time preparing for cram school or going out to do extra work. They nearly never took notice of the refashioning. Maybe, if they were lucky, they’d stop for a second and remark to themselves about its beauty. Their eyes would catch just a hint of the rosy pinks and fruity oranges, and they could smile to themselves about what a nice view they would have during their journeys. Then, just as they always did, they would move along with their day. Never taking notice of the sky again, and missing it turn to something much more beautiful than what they had previously seen.

Getting to ignore a sunset, they quickly realized, was a privilege. A privilege that they could no longer have. When the Biggest, Most Awful, Most Despair-Inducing Incident in human history came to fruition, there was no time for trivial things like watching a sunset. Every day melted into a flurry of rioting, fighting, and danger that could eat them alive if they weren’t careful. The students of Hope’s Peak Academy got the worst of it, and Makoto and Kyoko were no exception to this rule. Walking onto campus every morning was gambling for one’s life as the Parade clamoured for justice at the gates. Makoto’s own parents had been so terrified of him getting assaulted on his way from their house to the school that they’d begged the headmaster to set him up in a dorm for the time being. And since Jin Kirigiri was a slightly foolish, but not entirely unreasonable man, he obliged. In the end, however, it only made things a little better. He and Kyoko still promised to walk every day to and from class together every day, just to be sure that the other would arrive safely.

It was no real life that the two of them were living, but then again, they wondered if anybody’s life was much of anything at this point. This wave of anger that consumed more than just Tokyo. It reigned across the entirety of Japan, and bled even further. Neighbouring countries began to get caught up in the tide, and then their neighbours came in, and then their allies, and then their enemies. Before anyone could so much as breathe a word of soothing nature, the world had sliced itself open and soaked its people with its bloody rage. Now, all anyone could do was attempt to rinse themselves off and stitch up the wounds. There was nothing anyone could do about the fact that some were determined to keep opening new ones. Especially not at Hope’s Peak – as far as everyone was concerned, Jin offered the students as much protection as he could give.

Makoto just wished there was more. Not just on his side of things, but on the side of the Reserve Course students as well. He could have been in their shoes, had he not been so lucky. Hell, he probably would have been one of the students even further on the outside, who couldn’t even breathe the same air as a Hope’s Peak student. If they wanted to send him there on money alone, one of them would have had to fork over a kidney to the black market just to get enough. His family was not financially stable enough for that, and he felt certain that many of the Reserve Course kids were not that financially stable either. Yet there they were, clamouring even as the sun began to drift off to sleep. He wished they would, too. At the very least, he took comfort in the fact that their numbers were dwindling for the day.

“They look so small down there.”

Kyoko’s voice was flatter than soda in the sun. If he didn’t know her as well as he did, he might have thought her uninvested in the situation.

“They do.” He muttered; his gaze fixed on a pair of boys picking a fight with the head of security. The sight of their shouting and waving their fists made him cringe. Juzo Sakakura was an alumnus of Hope’s Peak; the Super High School Level Boxer to be more specific. Not exactly the kind of man that anyone should want to mess with, especially on account of his hot temper. Pity stirred within him when he thought about how this would end. “Sakakura-san will crush them like small bugs, too.”

She nodded curtly. “They should know better than to mess with him. He and the others have beaten up more than their fair share of Reserve Course students already.”

Makoto bit his lip, wishing he had it within himself to do something. He was a small fish in a big pond. What could he possibly do? There was no control to be had over this situation, and yet he craved it.

“I don’t know what they think that’s going to accomplish.”

“Well, my understanding is that they think this will earn them some sort of equality or change, but so far their attempts haven’t born fruit-”

“No,” he cut in, surprised even by his own interruption, “That’s not what I meant.”

She blinked at him; her expression unchanging. Not even a twitch of the eyebrow or the lip to tell him what she was thinking. The girl was somewhere beyond neutral at this point, but she didn’t seem keen on showing it. “What did you mean, then?”

“I don’t understand why the school hasn’t given in or tried to fix things. I’m surprised the police haven’t gotten involved,” heart thundering in his head, he continued, “Do you know if the school’s paying them hush money, or something?”

Ah. A frown etched itself into her face within a matter of seconds, clearly the product of dredged up memories. So there was a little bit of emotion hiding behind that iron mask. Her father had had a case for her a few weeks back, after all. Though she refused to share many details, what she did tell him was that he suspended the case rather abruptly. He even went as far as saying that he “wasn’t satisfied with her work”. Her eyes had been glassy when she told him that. Keeping himself from pulling her into his arms had been more difficult than one might have expected.

“I haven’t spoken to my father since the case.” Her eyebrows knitted themselves together as she glared at the students below. “Nor do I have any desire to speak to him again about much of anything.”

Makoto could think to do nothing else but nod. “I don’t blame you. You were pretty upset after the whole thing.”

“Should I not have been?” Her arms folded across her chest. “It was as if he gave me the case just to humiliate me by taking it away later. Not that it matters anyway. He doesn’t really care about the investigation. The one thing I know for certain is that he doesn’t care as much about the Steering Committee as he pretends he does.”

Why would he not do something if that were the case? Was he honestly just sitting around twiddling his thumbs? He definitely tried not to make his impressions on people he didn’t know based on what others told him, but this seemed a little too suspicious to swallow.

“What do you mean?” He dared to ask, shuffling slightly closer to her. Her refusal to meet his gaze remained rather blatant, but her face relaxed slowly.

“He has little impact on the school overall,” she sighed, tucking a strand of hair back into place, “Jin Kirigiri is Hope’s Peak headmaster in title more than anything. They attempt to take his ideas into account, but he is a figurehead first and foremost.”

“So he can’t do anything about the protests?”

Kyoko shrugged. “He probably has been trying to, but the committee will not allow him that privilege.”

His fingers gripped at his hoodie sleeves, as if to beg him to ground them in some way. If it weren’t for the cool air brushing delicately against his face, he might have thought himself to be in a movie scene. If Kyoko’s father really was doing all that he could, what chance did they have against the world? Things were already so close to falling off the edge into a chasm of desolation, and now nobody could do anything? The phantom sensation of a fist squeezed his throat. Part of him ached to reach his hand out to take hold of Kyoko’s own, feeling the smooth leather of her gloves against the palms of his hands. Would it be appropriate? She did still look pretty mad, but… god, he wanted to feel like everything around him was real for once. Throughout all of this chaos, she was one of a few things that reminded him that things were not as bad as he thought them to be.

Shutting his eyes, he turned away from the scene. A few steps away from the rooftop’s chained fence managed to soothe his nerves within mere seconds. It somehow caught Kyoko’s attention, too.

“I… I can’t watch them anymore.” He answered to the question she didn’t ask. Watching the Reserve Course students scream at shout like that is what they did all day in class and all day after. God, they needed a break from it. Regret stirred within him any time he drew himself back to the simpler days, when he took things like getting boba tea with Sayaka or rough housing with Mondo and Taka for granted. He’d give anything to go home and sit with his mom, and listen to those incredibly annoying women blather through their talk show. He missed the brief period of time in which his dad had begun to teach him how to drive, and the two would squabble over the controls and road safety. He even missed fighting with Komaru over who would get the TV on a Friday night, inducing many groans of frustrations from their parents. When all of these people were suffering, he knew was wrong to want it back, but… How could he not? Makoto’s heart was much too soft to comfortably look on as others suffered.

The clacking of Kyoko’s high-heeled boots against the stone tiles of the roof signalled to him that she, too, had found it easier to turn away. “I can understand that. I don’t fancy watching them either.”

“Kirigiri-san, could we…” To this surprise, his voice sounded like it was breaking. “Could we talk about something else? Something other than… whatever this is?”

The clacking echoed closer as she moved to stand at his side; her hand found a soothing spot on his shoulder. One simple movement, and relief crashed over him in a waterfall. Warmth spread through his chest and for one moment, he felt completely safe. After so many weeks of fear and struggling, he finally remembered the sensation. His grandmother used to say that that was how you knew you loved someone. If you could find comfort in their touch during your darkest times. He definitely had it bad for Kyoko Kirigiri. The lovesickness, as his grandfather might say.

“Is there something you want to talk about?” She spoke in a voice that felt like he was running his hand along a fleece blanket, taking in all of its softness. She tilted her body forward to try and get a good look at his face.

A small smile tugged at his lips as he watched her out of the corner of his eye. He couldn’t stop himself from turning to meet her. “Anything, really. Preferably something happy.”

“Happy, hmm?” She tapped her chin, pursing her lips slightly. It was rare that one actually got to see the cogs turning in Kyoko’s mind, but it was always a sight to behold. “Umm… Sweden has a rabbit show all about jumping? I heard about it when my grandfather and I were there on a case when I was a girl. I think it might have been called Kaninhoppning?”

Makoto laughed, shaking his head. “That’s adorable.”

“It really is. Come to think of it, I have many happy memories from that trip… Although I never did get to see Kaninhoppning, I did manage to slip out onto our hotel room balcony for a half an hour to catch the most beautiful sunset I’ve ever seen.”

Having the chance to slip away from her grandfather on those trips was a rare occurrence, that he knew well. Though Makoto had never met Kyoko’s grandfather, he couldn’t say that he felt like he would particularly like the man. The manner in which he treated Kyoko as she grew felt strange to him, in the least. She even confessed to being connected to him more by blood than by love, much to Makoto’s shock.

“What did it look like?”

It became Kyoko’s turn to smile as she turned her head to the sky, extending a gloved hand to point at the atmosphere spread above them. “A lot like this one, I found. A smattering of colours.”

He followed suit, breathing in a calming breath as his eyes found a familiar sky. Puffs of pink and oranges sailed across the surface of blue like mystical ships in a vast ocean; sunlight breaking through like the heavens smiling down on them. Almost like proof that someone was still sitting up there, waiting to give this sign.

“It’s really something, isn’t it?”

She nodded, stepping closer to him and sliding her hand to his other shoulder. Oh god, she put her arm around him?! That made his heartbeat skip. He prayed his face hadn’t turned fire truck red. She would most definitely resort to teasing him if she caught wind of his embarrassment. Apart of him wonder if she could sense it, for only a few seconds later she tilted her head as if to rest on his shoulder. Rather than leave her there by herself, he moved his own to meet it.

“It is rather special, I agree,” she answered him with a smile, “Dare I say it, this is perhaps even more special than the one during my travels.”

God. That skin of his had definitely flushed red by now. It was a battle to avoid stuttering while he spoke, and a fight he lost easily. “R-Really? What m-makes this so special?”

Kyoko shrugged her shoulders; her voice pouring from her mouth like smooth molasses. “I’m here with you.”

Butterflies began to beat around his stomach the moment the words fell from her lips. Ack! Don’t think about her lips, he commanded himself internally. The last thing he needed was thinking about kissing those soft, full lips… a pair so perfectly rose in colour and that probably would feel so sweet against his own… Aah! No kissing, no kissing! She wanted to try and be his friend, and he was worrying about kissing. He should have been worried about thinking what to say. Could she tell that he was thinking about that?

A quick glance at her out of the corner of his eye told him no; Kyoko Kirigiri was not a mind reader. Very adept at reading body language, but she could not telepathically tell that someone was thinking about kissing her. However, he had to admit that she could definitely tell that he was nervous. So much so that she started to apologize.

“Sorry,” she muttered, darting her gaze to the floor, “I hadn’t mean to embarrass you.”

He waved his hands around frantically. “No, no! I’m not embarrassed, you just… caught me off-guard, that’s all. I like hearing you say stuff like that. You’re a lot more sentimental than you let on.”

The detective bit her lip awkwardly, doing her best to act like her face was not slowly growing poppy-red. The sight of her made him have to fight to suppress a few giggles. She has no right to be this cute, he thought with amusement. Even stereotypically cute girls like Sayaka couldn’t rival the sheer adorability of his Kyoko.

“I’ve never really thought about myself like that… Would you consider it a good thing?”

Makoto laughed and nuzzled her shoulder affectionately. “It’s a great thing. In fact, it’s something I like about you.”

“I like that about you too,” she murmured, her voice cracking as she continued, “Your sentimentality, I mean. Not mine, that would be… that would be strange, wouldn’t it?”

Oh, how the tables had turned. Now Kyoko was the one standing there, totally embarrassed. Though it had been him only for a moment earlier, he wondered if it were wrong to relish it. Seeing Kyoko flustered was as rare as Shikoku’s glowing mushroom forests; one could barely help wanting to take in all of the charm.

“It would be, yeah,” he laughed, “I’m glad you like that about me, though. In fact, I’d like to ask you something about it.”

Kyoko nodded ever so slightly, careful not to hurt either of their heads with the movement. “Of course.”

“Kirigiri-san, would you promise me something?”

“As long as it’s not to help you cover up a murder, most certainly.”

He laughed. Ever blunt, as always. “No, nothing like that. I just… I want you to promise me that no matter what happens next, that you and I will always be there to support each other. Could you do that for me?”

Though he expected a moment of hesitation, he was met with none. Only a smile greeted him alongside her words. “I’m surprised that you felt as if you had to ask. I would do that for you in a heart beat.”

Makoto pressed his cheek further into her shoulder. “I never doubted you.”

#naegiri2020 #danganronpa #naegiri #danganronpa 3 #kyoko kirigiri #makoto naegi #makoto x kyoko #naegi x kirigiri #despair arc #kyouko kirigiri #naegi makoto #kirigiri kyoko

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ellanainthetardis · 6 years

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A breakdown is coming! I want to know all your thoughts about it!!

[ff] or [ao3]

Chapter 56 : Escorts Are Forgotten

Haymitch was so focused on the chessboard that he didn’t pay attention to the increasing loud voices until they were impossible to ignore. He looked up at Peeta who was trying – and failing – to get out of the trap he had forced his queen into but the boy looked as puzzled as he was.

Haymitch turned toward the living-room door with a frown. They had the morning off and he had taken advantage of Peeta’s offer of a game of chess, just to make sure he wasn’t too rusty. It was supposed to be his talent this time around. After lunch, he would go on Caesar’s stage and face a Capitol chess champion. It wouldn’t make for a riveting talent show but maybe he would manage to enjoy himself.

Then of course, the rest of the afternoon would be full of pampering for the Victory Party at the Presidential Mansion that night. He wasn’t looking forward to that at all. He was even less enthralled the long train ride that would take them to Twelve after that.

“No, I will not calm down!” Effie’s voice thundered from somewhere in the penthouse. “I do not care how respectful you feel I should be to you!”

His frown deepened but he didn’t stand up from the couch yet. Nobody had come in or out of the penthouse in hours. Whoever she was arguing with, it was someone from the team and he wasn’t exactly eager to get involved. It was refreshing not to be the aim of her ire for once.

Alys hurried into the living-room, all wide frightened eyes and fretfulness.

“What’s going on?” Peeta asked.

Their future escort cleared her throat and nervously twisted her hands. “Effie does not like the outfits Mr Harwyn prepared for tonight.”

“I cannot believe you would do this to me!” Effie shrieked. “How did you even… Haymitch!”

Peeta’s eyebrows shot up and he hastily looked back down at the chessboard, suddenly completely focused.

“I don’t know what you did but I have never seen her that furious.” Alys warned in a whisper, almost throwing herself in an armchair before grabbing a magazine to hide behind.

Haymitch barely had time to stand up before Effie came storming in, followed a lot more slowly by the stylist who was leaning heavily on his walking stick. The gem was orange that day.

“The fuck…” he started because it was always better to take the upper ground with Effie.

“Why would you do this to me?” Effie hissed, her eyes bright with tears. And he shut up because she wasn’t just furious, she was deeply upset. A few tears escaped and ran down her cheeks, tracing clean tracks in her make-up. She wiped them away angrily. “I cannot… This is…” Word were failing her and he watched, helpless to stop it, as her control finally broke and a sob escaped her throat. Peeta looked up, horror-struck because a crying Effie wasn’t something the boy knew how to handle – not that he knew how to do that better. “Oh…” she breathed out heavily, clearly trying to keep a hold on herself. “I trusted you. I trusted you both.” Her blue eyes darted from him to Harwyn. “That you would humiliate me like this…”

“My dear, you are being quite unreasonable.” the stylist sighed. “There is no need to put yourself in such a state over this. Why, you almost look like your mother!”

Haymitch winced.

Effie glared. “You stole my designs and now insist I must parade around wearing them for everyone to see. Worse, you somehow got my lover to steal them for you. You plan on publicly humiliate me and now you dare accuse me of being overdramatic because I am upset?” Her face contorted in anguish. “I thought we were friends! I have always looked up to you! I have always…”

She turned around and rushed out of the room before Haymitch could even try to reach for her. It was too late though. They all clearly heard her erupt into tears in the hallway.

“What the hell did you do to her?” Peeta growled.

“Yeah, the fuck?” Haymitch snapped, turning to Harwyn, hands bundled into fists. Seeing Effie so upset was doing nothing good to his temper.

“The outfits for tonight’s party are hers.” the stylist explained. “She did not take kindly to it.”

“What?” he scowled. “That wasn’t the plan. The plan was…”

“The plan was to have some of her designs put together so she could see she was being unreasonable.” Harwyn cut him off. “And here we are.”

“It was supposed to be a gift, not a bloody trap.” he retorted.

He had snatched a few of her more recent sketchpads before the Tour and he had handed them to Harwyn, mostly because the dinner with her family had been an eye opener on that front. Her mother had drilled it into her head she had no talent and now she refused to see that she could do something for herself on the fashion field. Not that he knew a lot about that but if Harwyn said she could do it he was inclined to trust the man – he wouldn’t put his entire legacy in the hands of someone he didn’t believe could hold the fort. And he knew it was a dream she would never dare voice. Being the Head Stylist of Harwyn fashion house would be… Well, to her, it would be an achievement and he wanted her to be happy.

So he had done what he had thought would help. He had stolen her designs and had passed them along, hoping that once she would see them sewed together she would realize she, in fact, had some talent. That it would… help.

But he had never meant for her to be forced to wear them at the most important party of the year.

“I have known Effie for a very long time.” the stylist insisted. “And…”

“Oh, shut up.” Haymitch spat, not in any mood to face that particular brand of patronizing lectures. They didn’t need to play at whom had known Effie the longest for him to be sure this wasn’t going to go down easily. “I never meant for this to make her feel that bad.”

“Can someone explain?” Peeta frowned.

He shook his head. “He’s gonna explain.”

And with that he left the living-room. His first stop was the roof but it was empty so he went on to their bedroom, wincing when he found her lying on her stomach in the middle of their bed, her face buried in a pillow, her frame shaken by big sobs, her despair obvious.

Effie hardly ever cried.

Or at least if she did, she never let him know.

“Go away!” she snapped when he sat down. She hadn’t looked up but he supposed she had felt the dip in the mattress. “I do not want to see you. I do not want to look at you. How could you? How could you?”

It might have been a more impressive rant if it hadn’t been so broken and heaved.

“Wasn’t supposed to be like this.” he mumbled, placing a hand between her shoulder blades. She shrugged it off once but when he rested it there once more she didn’t try that again. He gently rubbed her back. “Was supposed to be a surprise…”

“A surprise? A surprise?” she screeched, sitting up and twisting around so she could face him. Her make-up was beyond repair. The smudged mascara made her look like a pink panda but he wisely did not tell her that. She glared at him. “This will be mortifying. There is still time to send for replacement suits for you and Peeta. But me? No suitable dress can be found and adjusted in such little time, not when I am supposed to take care of the talent show. I do not have anything with me that I haven’t already worn on the Tour because Mr Harwyn was supposed to take care of tonight’s outfits and now… Now what am I supposed to do, Haymitch? Even if I dash home and come back with a dress… At worse it will be out of fashion because I haven’t gone shopping in a whole month, at best it will be something I already wore elsewhere and that… You cannot go to that sort of events in a dress you already wore elsewhere! You cannot! What am I supposed to do?” It was impressive how she could rant so long without taking a breath. She did then, a deep long breath. Haymitch opened his mouth but before he could say anything, she was talking again, suddenly calmer. “Of course. I cannot go. I won’t. You will have to invent an excuse. Take Alys as your date. Tell them…”

“Over my dead body.” he scoffed. “You’re coming with me. I need you there. Can’t go back to that place without you.”

The mere thought of standing where the Cornucopia had been… Of dancing where Chaff had laid dead… No. Without her to hold his arm and squeeze his hand when he started to back out, there was no hope of him lasting the night there without going completely crazy. Not after spending the last month revisiting his latest arena.

“Well, you should have thought about it before trying to publicly humiliate me.” she snapped. “I cannot go to this party wearing a nobody’s dress. What am I supposed to answer when they ask me where I found that ugly thing? Oh, I did it myself?”

“Yeah, actually.” he shrugged, a bit irritated. “Harwyn says your stuff is good. Why can’t you…”

“Because it is not!” she cut him off, raising her voice. It wasn’t often she lost her temper so much that she would scream like that. Lately, when they argued it was more in cutting attacks than in shouting matches. And…

“You’re scared.” he accused. It helped quell his annoyance a little. Even if the whole thing was ridiculous in his opinion, just as ridiculous as the pink wig sitting askew on her head. That someone could be so upset over clothes… But clothes were her battle armor and Harwyn should have known better than messing with that.

“Of course, I am scared.” she huffed. She licked her lips and averted her eyes, hugging herself. “I know you have much bigger problems and they have to come first right now, considering, but… After tomorrow a part of my life will be over and… The aftermath… Escorts are forgotten. They become nothing. And…”

“Sweetheart.” he said firmly. “You’re not nothing.”

“But I won’t be an escort anymore.” she retorted. “And I won’t be a model much longer either. Mother is right, I am pushing it. And becoming the Head of Mr Harwyn’s house… It is an amazing opportunity but it won’t be the same. I won’t be in the spotlight as much and…”

“Not being in the spotlight isn’t bad.” he scoffed.

“For you.” she commented. “For me… It is the only way I know to exist.”

And it was sad. Very sad.

He sighed, trying to keep his irritation and impatience in check. Effie had her quirks and even though the whole thing seemed so trivial to him… It wasn’t to her.

She loved being loved, worshipped. It came down to that. Sure, she would remain famous – all the more so with him for a live-in companion – but it wouldn’t be the same. She wouldn’t be queen of the bees anymore. She would be… She would be like her mother and her sister. The former model, the former escort… Famous still, wealthy beyond measure, maybe an important sponsor – though he couldn’t see the Gamemakers allowing that, given their relationship – but not… Not the hit girl she used to be. Not the number one.

And that was without taking into account all the people who had died in the last year and how badly the Quell had shaken her up. They had been very focused on him and his own problems, his night terrors, his panic attacks, his grief and his guilt… He couldn’t really remember them going over her own feelings about the whole thing in depth.

He knew Effie. She would focus on the obvious: the loss of her job to avoid thinking about the rest too much. And, as a result, she would make a big deal out of it. Which meant she had probably been silently agonizing over it for months.

“You’re having a life crisis behind my back, sweetheart?” he joked, tugging on her pink wig until it completely came loose.

She smiled but it was unsure and fleeting. “Perhaps.”

“Should have said.” he rebuked without much heat.

“You have your own worries and I do not want to add to them.” she whispered, looking down. “Your problems are bigger than mine, I know. But…”

“Effie.” he cut her off firmly, slowly combing his fingers in her blond hair. He wasn’t quite sure how to voice what he wanted to say but he knew for certain it had to be said. If they wanted a chance at making this work in the long haul, it had to. “We’re in this together, yeah? Means there’s no bigger than mine, smaller than yours, alright? You’re not feeling well, you tell me. You’re getting scared, you tell me. We figure it out together.”

She glanced up at him, studied him for a second, and then she slowly crawled on his lap and rested her head on his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight, feeling like an asshole for not noticing it had been that bad… He should have.

She was so good at fooling everyone, at keeping up the cheerful happy pretence… He usually saw through that easily enough but lately… Well, he had spent the last six months focused on himself, couldn’t bring himself to care for anything else.

“I just… I do not know what happens next.” she whispered. “It has been thirteen years and now it is over and… I am excited about the new job and our new house and… I am excited but leaving all this behind is…”

“Huge.” he finished for her when her voice trailed off.

“Yes.” she admitted. “Stealing my designs… It was a cruel joke.”

“Wasn’t a joke at all.” he sighed. “Look… Way I see it… You have a chance here. You’re always sketching clothes, sweetheart, you’re always playing at dressing me or your friends up…” He had been forced to retreat to the kitchen often enough while she played dress-up in her walk-in closet with a gaggle of her friends, after all. He would know. They all listened to her, they all trusted her with their looks… And Effie loved that. She loved making them feel good about themselves – at least when she wasn’t trying to sabotage them. “That’s your thing, yeah? The thing you like most? You’ve got a shot at doing it for real. You go out there, you try, you knock them all dead.”

“You are asking me to take a huge gamble, Haymitch.” she replied. “If I end up a mockery…”

“Yeah, but what if you end up a star?” he countered before rolling his eyes. “When have you ever ended up a mockery? You’ve been my escort for more than a decade and no one ever dragged you for your looks now, yeah?” He gave her a small shake to make his point and then propped his cheek against her forehead. “Being scared of doing something… It ain’t you. Effie Trinket’s never been afraid of anything in her life. She goes in and she conquers. No other possible option. Yeah?”

He understood why this was so difficult for her though. She was always so arrogant it was hard sometimes to remember there were matters about which she was vulnerable. Her mother’s harsh opinions had made some damages here and there. Her natural looks were one. Her designs were another. He was sure there were more she was good at keeping from him still.

“True.” she admitted. “I make the rules.” She chuckled slowly. “Why, I even managed to make jumpsuits fashionable. Perhaps I will make headscarves trendy again next.”

“That’s my girl.” he praised with a smirk, pressing a kiss on her forehead. Her skin tasted like powder, familiar but not quite pleasant. “We go and we kick their ass with your awesome outfits.”

“And if everyone claims I lost my mind and it is a total fiasco in tomorrow’s newspapers?” she asked.

“Tomorrow we’re gonna be in Twelve. No newspapers there.” he shrugged.

“Will you still love me if I am a failure of a stylist?” she insisted, a bit too uncertainly for his tastes. Sometimes, he really wanted to bash her mother’s head in with a very thick club. The idea that someone’s affection depended on whether or not the other person succeeded or failed…

But he remembered the beauty pageants trophies and other awards that occupied an entire shelf in their living-room. He remembered that there were a lot of runner-up and second place medals pushed at the back and it made him wonder… He knew she had been doing pageants since she could walk and he also knew from comments here and there that her sister was usually the one taking the first place home. It made him wonder just how her mother had reacted to her not managing the same thing.

Probably not well. Probably making her feel like less than she was. Probably implying she wasn’t a good daughter for letting her down. Probably withdrawing a love for which Effie was starved.

His only reaction was to scoff. “Princess, trust me, if you being an escort wasn’t the deal breaker, being a failed stylist won’t be enough to drive me away.” He rolled his eyes. “Not that you’re gonna fail.”

She breathed out slowly against his neck. “I don’t think anyone has ever loved me that much.”

It was murmured and probably not really meant for his ears.

He bumped his head against hers but didn’t offer an answer.

Because she might think that but he knew he could do better. He should have noticed she wasn’t doing well. He should have been paying more attention.

And from now on, he vowed he would.

#hayffie #effie trinket #haymitch abernathy #into that good night

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such-a-common-girl · 7 years

Text

“After She Ran” Part 3 of Series

Words: 1,829

Warnings: Swearing, death, angst

Links to Part One and Part Two

Summary: The story of how everyone felt after your death.

A/N: I know it seems like I posted this story in a really odd way. But personally, I feel like it reads better this way. If I had posted it in chronological order I don’t think the story would have been as good, or as exciting. BUT, S/O to the anon who requested this! :)

Your name: submit What is this?

Rick had a hard time doing it.

They had been walking in the woods, him, Daryl, and Glenn, when they saw her. She was still wearing the same clothes as she had been the day of her birthday, but it wasn’t her anymore. She was dead, she was a walker. Daryl started crying immediately, and he couldn’t do it. He was so choked up on his tears, hyperventilating, that he couldn’t even look at her. He couldn’t bring himself to kill his daughter. Sure, it wasn’t her anymore, but that didn’t stop Daryl from feeling any differently.

Glenn couldn’t do it, either. He just kept uttering “oh my god” over and over again, unable to look at Y/N in the face. He didn’t talk to her often when she was alive, mostly just about patrol or small talk if they were having a conversation, but it still hurt him to see her like this. They had already lost so many people, and they had finally thought that things would be good now that they were in Alexandria.

Glenn looked at Rick, who was just standing there. He was staring at her right in the face, but not moving to grab his weapons. He was transfixed, unable to move, unable to believe what he was seeing. Rick didn’t like Y/N, and that was no secret to anyone. He thought she was irresponsible and a troublemaker. But this? He never wanted this. He wouldn’t ever wish this on anybody. Y/N was just a kid, she didn’t deserve this, no matter how much trouble she caused.

“Get Daryl outta here.” Rick had said to Glenn. Glenn tried to pull Daryl away, who was screaming and trying to get out of his grasp, and the weakness of Daryl’s body at that moment was enough for Glenn to get him away.

Daryl could barely walk, blinded from his tears and his ears filled with screams he didn’t recognize were his own. But, Glenn handled it. Glenn knew that Daryl’s pain was more than his would ever be for her, and he needed to pull it together. He needed to be there for Daryl.

“She was pregnant,” Daryl managed to get out once they were almost back to the gates of Alexandria. Glenn didn’t know how to react, except for just hugging the man. He could feel his own tears building up, but he pushed them away, reminding himself that he needed to be strong.

Rick didn’t want to shoot her. His hand was shaking as he pulled out his gun, mind racing. All he could think about was Daryl and Carl. He knew that the worst reaction this would get was from Daryl, since she was his daughter, but he could handle seeing him like that. But Carl? Rick didn’t want to have to see Carl’s reaction. He knew that he had lost so many people already, that Rick didn’t think that he himself could handle Carl losing another one. Especially someone that he was in love with, no matter how much Rick had tried to keep them apart. Carl was in love with her.

He shut his eyes, and pulled the trigger.

Rick was walking through the gate when Michonne came up to him, wondering what was wrong. She had seen Daryl and Glenn come through earlier, Daryl acting like a maniac, but nobody told her anything.

“What’s going on?” She questioned Rick.

“Y/N didn’t make it.” Is all that Rick managed to get out. Michonne just nodded, but was quite upset on the inside. Just like Rick, she hurt for Carl, knowing what this would do him.

The look on Carl’s face when Rick came home that day, with his blood stained shirt and a hurt look on his eyes, was the most heartbreaking thing in the world.

“Dad?” He had ran up to him, setting Judith down on the floor. “Is she… Was she… Why is there blood on your shirt?”

“She’s gone.” Rick said.

Carl could feel his heart physically breaking. He dropped to the floor, tears falling down his face as he mourned the loss of Y/N. The loss of his child. Carl had felt heartbreak before, with his mother and Sophia, but this? This seemed ten times worse than any pain he had felt in his life. He loved you so much, and that baby that you were carrying in your stomach.

“I’m sorry, son. I’m so, so sorry.”

“You hated her! You don’t get to say sorry!” Carl yelled at his dad, making Judith start to cry.

“I didn’t hate her.” Rick said softly, feeling immense sadness at seeing his son’s loss.

“I could’ve done something, I could’ve kept her from running, if you didn’t set that stupid ass rule that we couldn’t see each other. Did you know she was pregnant? Huh?” Carl shot. Rick’s face fell, and he took a seat on a chair to keep from passing out. “Yeah, you didn’t. Well, she was. I was going to be a dad. You were gonna be a grandpa. Fucking congrats.”

Rick wanted to cry, knowing that Carl had not only lost one person, but two. His face seemed frozen in shock, unable to find anything to say back.

“This is all your fault, you know. It’s your fault that she’s dead! Yours and Daryl’s!” He yelled, getting up and stomping out to the door. He knew he was being unreasonable, but he didn’t care. At the moment, he didn’t care about anything. “I’m going on a walk. I’ll see you later.”

Carl ran outside, kicking the grass, yelling. He paced up and down the street, spotting Glenn and Maggie talking in front of Daryl’s house.

Maggie looked at Carl, sadness growing in her heart for him. She knew of Y/N’s relationship with Carl, and knew that it was pretty serious. When Glenn had come to find her when he got back with tears in his eyes, she knew immediately what happened. Glenn didn’t even need to tell her.

Like Glenn, she and Y/N didn’t talk often, but she considered her to be like her little sister. Y/N had grown up around her ever since the farm, and was Beth’s best friend.

Maggie didn’t think that learning of her death would affect her, but it did. Especially when Glenn mentioned to her that she was pregnant.

“Did anyone know?” Maggie asked, not quite crying but tears forming in her eyes.

Glenn shook his head. “Not anyone besides Carl and Daryl, no. I don’t even think Rick knew.”

“Rick was so unnecessarily mean to her, I don’t blame her or Carl for not telling him.” Maggie let a tear fall. Glenn brought her in for a hug, comforting his wife. “She was just a kid, Glenn.”

“I know, Maggie. I know.” He rested his chin on her head.

“What’s going on?” Carol walked up to them. She had noticed some of the group, particularly Daryl, being quite upset and he refused to talk to her. Carol had an idea of what happened, but refused to believe it until someone confirmed it.

“Y/N, she um…” Glenn started. “She was a walker when we found her.”

“Oh my god,” Carol gasped, flashbacks of Sophia running through her brain. “Is Daryl ok?”

“He’s taking it pretty bad.”

“Oh god…” Carol put her hand to her forehead.

“Rick put her down. Made me take Daryl back. He’s in his house right now, wanted to be left alone. He might be open to seeing you, though.”

Carol nodded, and went inside the house. She could hear glass breaking upstairs and what sounded like his fist hitting the wall repeatedly.

Carol ran upstairs, seeing Daryl in the doorway of Y/N’s room, with a bottle of whiskey in his hand. There was broken glass inside of Daryl’s room, and a hole though the wall in the hallway, presumably where he had punched it.

“Daryl…” She went up to him.

“I threw her necklace out the window. Guess she won’t need it anymore, huh?” He was drunk. “Leave me alone.”

“No,” She said softly, walking closer to him.

“She’s dead, Carol. She’s dead.” He started crying again, and Carol wrapped her arms around him. He cried onto her shoulder.

“I’m here for you, Daryl. I’m here.”

It had been a few weeks since Y/N’s death. Most of the group were moving on, but Carl and Daryl were still having a hard time processing it. Daryl had been pretending to be ok on the outside, but on the inside, he was destroyed. He cried himself to sleep every night.

Carl wouldn’t talk to anyone. Not even Rick. He stayed quiet, hurting. Rick was worried about him, but tried to give him his space as well.

“We need to do something. He’s not taking this well at all.” Carol had gone up to Rick one day as he was patrolling.

“Just let him grieve. It’s normal.”

“I think we should do something for him, to show him we’re all here for him. Him and Carl.”

“What do you propose we do?”

Daryl got back to his house later than usual that night. He’d been out killing walkers all day; his favorite past time lately. It was a way to get his anger out.

He was exhausted as he walked onto his front porch, setting his crossbow on by the door before he walked in.

“What the hell?” He mumbled as he walked in and everyone was sitting in his living area.

“We have food! And dessert.” Maggie was the first one to say something.

“What’re you guys doin’ here?” He huffed, taking off his shoes.

“Daryl,” Rick started. “We just wanted to all let you know that we are here with you. We’re here. You’re not doing this alone. We’ll all miss her.”

“You didn’t have to do this.” Daryl said quietly.

The night was good- everyone tried to forget the recent events and just tried to be happy. Daryl managed to crack a smile at one point in the night. Carl did, too.

“You’re my brother.” Rick had come up to Daryl at some point again during the night, this time away from the crowd. “You’re my family. Everyone here, this whole group- we’re family. And we love you.”

And in that moment, Daryl knew that he would overcome this, that he would be ok eventually.

a/n: this was the last of the series! hope you liked it :)

#and then she ran #before she ran #after she ran #and then she ran series #daryl dixon #daryl x reader #carl grimes #carl x reader #rick grimes #rick x reader #glenn rhee #glenn rhee x reader #maggie greene #carol peletier #twd #the walking dead

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