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crushedbyhyperbole · 3 years

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A Tale of Fingers, Holes & Balls

Thanks @eurynome827 , you know I love a good balls prompt ;) Here’s Bucky with some date-stealin’ antics. Hope you enjoy <3

++++++++ separates flashback from present

Words: ~ 1200

Warnings: Bit of sass, reader ditches her date, little bit in there about some insecurities/trauma but it’s very mild and in passing.

It’s dim and cozy in the bar where you sit with your sister and her husband on this kind of double date thing you’ve got happening. You never imagined, not in your wildest dreams, that you’d be introducing Bucky Barnes, Avenger and one time Fist of Hydra, as your boyfriend. I mean, he’s what? seventy years older than you? Yeah definitely don’t think about that.

Bucky squeezes your thigh reassuringly as if he senses your unease. Maybe it’s that you’re thinking about his past, he hopes not, or maybe it’s the question that just came out of your sister’s mouth.

“So, how did you guys meet?” Her eyes are glittering with the effects of wine and intrigue. “Was it some daring rescue of a damsel in distress?”

Bucky’s laugh is so pure and good, bringing warmth to your chest when he throws his head back in genuine mirth; after all he’s been through, you’re amazed he can still laugh but that’s one of the things you love about him.

“If anything it was me who needed rescuing,” Bucky squeezed your thigh again, playfully this time, “turns out she’s quite passionate about balls.”

You cut through the titters of laughter. “Now just wait a second, you’re not telling the story!”

“You want to tell it?”

“It was my ball, I’m telling it.”

Bucky raises your hand to his lips and lays a soft kiss there. “I’m in trouble now.”

“So, it was last year on July 4th and I was out on a blind date that cousin Sherry set me up on, you remember that hot guy she lived next to? Drew?” You side-eyed Bucky to see his reaction, and of course he’s rolling his eyes in a long-suffering kind of way.

“Good thing I’m not insecure.” He winks at you.

“Anyway, he took me bowling and we were gonna watch the fireworks after but then Bucky happened…”

++++++++

It wasn’t that Drew was boring, but he really was boring; boringly vain and he was a sore loser. You’d told him you liked bowling but you hadn’t told him that Pops used to take you bowling every week, or that you had your own ball, or that you were really good.

If a guy can take a beating with a little humility then he’s well on his way to being a keeper, you always said.

You’d played your first game and were about to start a second when a rowdy group of people arrived at the lane next to you; five of them, two redhead women and three men, and jesus if two of them weren’t made of solid muscle.

Focus. The bowling is everything.

Half the game in you went to take your turn, Drew watching you appreciatively as you bent over. Well at least you might get a night of passion out of him, hopefully his bedroom antics were better than his patter because boy! this guy had the personality of soggy bread.

“Uhh.” You grumbled when your ball wasn’t on the return rack. It definitely wasn’t there and it wasn’t as if you could miss the neon pink and black geometric pattern, it even had your name on it.

As you scanned around the lanes you saw your ball in the hands of the dark-haired beefcake in the adjoining lane. A quick glance at their screen told you his name was “Buckinator”? He scored eight, leaving a seven-ten split with your ball.

“I like that one.” He said as he returned to the rack to collect the ball.

“That’s my ball.” You said, meeting his gaze firmly.

“I don’t mind sharing,” he smiled softly, “I mean, they’re all communal balls right?”

“Nope.” You popped the p as you picked up your ball and went to bowl, getting your third strike in a row. A turkey.

While Drew was taking his turn, you noticed Buckinator had your ball again, it glided down the lane catching the seven pin and chipping it across into the ten for a spare.

“Way to go Bucky!” The blonde beefcake called out.

“Hey man!” You were on your feet and stomping the short distance over to the man to verbally assault him. “What’s a big beefy guy like you need with a little 8 anyway? Shouldn’t you be hefting a 16 or an 18 or something? Surprised you can stuff your big manly sausage fingers into my tiny holes,”

At first Bucky was taken aback but then he started laughing

“Hey, y/n, chill,” Drew hissed as he came to pull you away, “I can’t take those guys in a fight.”

“There won’t be a fight, man.” Bucky reassured. “Wow, you’re a feisty one.”

You crossed your arms across your chest. “It really is my ball.” You grumbled.

“I see that now,” Bucky said holding up your ball and examining the name, “y/n.”

You glared at him until he handed the ball back to you.

“I’m real sorry I offended you and used your ball. Honestly I thought you were just being a Karen.” He chuckled and extended his hand. “Name’s Bucky.”

“Y/n.” You got your bristling under control and relaxed, taking Bucky in fully now that the flames of resentment were fading; he really was a work of art. Suddenly you wished you weren’t here on a date with Drew, well not suddenly but for a different reason. “Better get back.”

“There’s no chance you’d consider sharing?” Bucky asked hopefully as he searched the rack for a similar ball to yours. “Maybe I can play you for shares?”

“Like if you beat me I share?”

“Just like that.”

“You’re on!”

And just like that Drew was forgotten – he was lame anyway, and you played Bucky for shared use of your ball. He gave you emotion, excitement and laughter, and took his defeat like a pro. You learned the rest of their names (Natasha, Wanda, Bruce and Steve) and that it was Steve’s birthday.

Afterwards you went with them to watch the fireworks and Bucky gave you his jacket when you got cold. He was charming and chivalrous and at the end of the night he kissed your hand and asked if he could see you again. Of course the answer was yes.

Weeks down the line he told you he was an Avenger, wanting to be sure you liked him for him, not for his status. He also told you his history too but that came a little later when he was ready to share it.

++++++++

“That’s it, he mistook my bowling ball for his in the shared ball return.” You summarise.

“Yup.” Bucky chuckles. “A terrible crime.”

“So, are there any plans for some little super soldier babies? I can’t wait to be an aunt.” Your sister is practically giddy, watching the way you two gravitate to one another and revolve around each other like two suns burning bright with love.

“Christ, sis! You wanted my toys when we were kids now you’re after my ovaries,”

“Soooo…” Bucky steps in; he knows you aren’t keen on having kids and he doesn’t know if he can or should with his serum situation. “How about you guys, how did you come to be together? Spare no detail, I want to hear it all.”

Crisis averted. You settle against your man and listen contently to the story you’ve heard a dozen times before. You’re happy and life is good.

#HBC #HBC Drunk Drabbles #old-fashioned drunk drabbles #Bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes meet cute #cloudy's writing

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sunflowerhae · 4 years

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Fratboy lucas😳👀 yes 🅱️lease oml

AN•I made it a bit angsty, a bit fluffy👼🏻☁️ also this is long ahha, Ik it’s not like, FRATBOY fratboy, but I actually quite like it! lemme know what u think! Also this means I get to make a wayv masterlist eye-

This party was sweltering hot and you were not having a good time. First off, your dorm mate -Elise- left you almost immediately to go talk to a boy from this frat named Johnny, and second, you knew literally nobody else here, as far as you could see.

It wasn’t your fault, though. I mean, sure, you barely left your room unless it was to go to the canteen, your classes, the library, or to the silent films they showed at the theatre every Friday night, along with your two friends Mark and Renjun (who were both from this very frat, yet you couldn’t find either). And yeah, maybe you didn’t talk to people unless you were apologizing for bumping into them, or texting them about a group project. And okay yes, it took Elise two weeks to hear more than three words out of your mouth at a time.

But, honestly, it wasn’t your fault.

You got into this school on a scholarship, and you’d be dammed if you lost it because you stopped focusing on your grades. Elise had to beg -and bribe- you to come to this NCT frat party with her, yet she leaves you five minutes in.

Fuck this, I’m going home. You thought to yourself as you hastily made your way to the door. You had texted your two friends to see where they were, yet neither answered; or even read them, for that matter. As you rounded into the hallway leading to the door, you halted with wide eyes. This seemed like an episode of wipeout to you. The floor was covered in an unknown, slippery substance, and the hallway definitely had way too many people in it for it to NOT be a health code violation. You tried mapping out the cleanest and fastest way to the door, but came up short - besides one.

Okay, you technically lied when you said you didn’t talk to anyone for fun.

Because how could you not talk to Wong Lucas when he was the most beautiful person you’ve ever met?

You remember the day you two met like it was yesterday, and not your freshman year, almost two years ago.

It was almost 12 am, and the library would be closing any second. You boringly walked up and down the aisles, dangling your workers card lanyard to the rhythm of your footsteps. You hated working the night shift at the library, but were just thankful that you had gotten a job right off then bat, anyway, so you barely complained (key word: barely).

The bookshelf hallways were - as usual for this time - empty. As you almost always did (because you were lazy), when you got to the very last shelf, you didn’t even bother to check it, just doing a small turn and continuing the way you came - until you heard the familiar sound of what sounded like a book falling on the floor. Working in a library, you were used to the sound of books being dropped on accident; so much to the point that you didn’t even flinch anymore. But this time, you were quite scared. You considered taking the trek up to the front desk where your much larger coworker, Jaehyun, would have been able to check whatever the sound was. However, you didn’t want to seem helpless, you’re an adult, for Pete’s sake.

So you took the closest weapon you saw - a book on the shelf next to you - and slowly walked where you heard the sound. Rounding the bookshelf, you expected to see a scary, old man with a black trench-coat and a hook hand (in a college library, sure).

What you saw, instead, was a TALL boy with honey colored hair and a purple hoodie standing against the bookshelf with his eyes closed and his head rested against the shelf. A deep sigh suddenly came from him, and when he opened his eyes and moved to reach and grab the book that he undoubtedly dropped, he almost yelled at your sheepish figure and wide eyes staring at him, near the corner.

With his eyes opened, and his head rested normal on his shoulders, you could get a good look at him, and saw that you knew exactly who he was. Wong Lucas; on the football team, if you’re not mistaken. A new member of the NCT frat, along with your new friend Renjun from your physics class, and his best friend, Mark. Extremely popular, especially for a freshman. You were for sure intimidated by him now; not because he was a bigger human than you, but because he was looking at you with a gaze of anger.

Wait what did I do?

“Listen, can you all stop? I just want to study, and I already have to come in at late times to be alone. There’s 100s of boys on this campus, leave me alone, please.” You didn’t really know what to say, but you were definitely annoyed, and also humored.

He really thought you were one of his stalkers.

“Um. I work here. Just coming by to say we’re closing in 5 minutes. If you could get what you needed and come check out, or get it tomorrow. Thank you!” You walked away, but you didn’t miss the rose color that slowly painted his face.

He came up to the register not even three minutes later, a poetry book called “The Worlds Wife” slipped between his fingers, a book you actually had your own copy of. You said nothing while checking him out, just smiled at him while handing the book to him. You expected him to leave right after, but he scratched his neck while staring at his feet, apologizing for what he said and asking if you wanted to stop by the 7-11, or have him walk you home - the rose color on his cheeks still prominent.

Your new roommates words repeated in your ears -“you need to get out”- like a mantra as you uncharacteristically accepted his offer (Jaehyun - who was standing to the side, finishing up closing the computer system - was so shocked he had his mouth open like a fish).

You agreed to get slushies from your local 7-11, and you both sat on the curb, laughing about anything and everything for what seemed like hours - and it was. You were pleasantly surprised to see that he was actually such a good person, with kind values and hilarious jokes. He walked you to your dorm, and kissed your cheek as a goodnight, after getting your number, and watched you walk into your dorm before leaving himself.

After that moment, it was midnight date adventures and movie nights (that usually turned into more), for the next year. He had asked you to be his girlfriend two dates after that first night, and kissed you two after that one. You loved him, and wanted to show everyone; wanted to hold his hand while walking across campus, go on coffee dates between classes, and tell everyone that Wong Lucas was yours.

Lucas did not.

He loved you, and did want to do those things with you, but he said it was because of who he was. He had girls asking him out 24/7, and they were easily jealous. If they caught wind that you two were dating, he feared that they would rip you to shreds. You loved that he cared for you, that he wanted to protect you, but it hurt that he kept you hidden from the people in his life. I mean, not even Renjun or Mark - who were in his frat - knew you two had been dating for a year.

When you had told him you were going to his frats party, he was immediately turned off to the idea. He didn’t want to worry about you, because he wouldn’t be able to be around you. You were so mad, so fed up, that it resulted in probably the worst fight of your relationship.

“Why?” You didn’t want to yell. You didn’t want your RA to come knocking and see Lucas, because god forbid anyone know you two even knew each other.

“You know why, y/n! No one knows we’re together!” You can tell he didn’t want to yell, either - most likely for the same reason. That assumption from you just made your blood boil even more.

“Yeah, why! Why can’t we tell anyone, xuxi? We’re almost juniors in college! We’re not kids anymore, this secret dating thing is bullshit!”

“Because I don’t want you getting hurt, y/n!”

“No, just admit what it’s really about. Admit that you don’t want to be seen with me, a nerd, a loser-“

“Yeah! Is that what you want to hear, y/n? Yes, it’s because you’re a loser, you’re lame, you only have two friends and don’t talk to anyone else. Why must I always be the social one? Why can’t you just go socialize with people, huh? Why couldn’t I have a girlfriend cooler than you, better, more like me?! Yes, I’m embarrassed by you! you satisfied, y/n?” He just about yelled, and you were waiting for the pounding from your RA, or a grouchy neighbor, that never came.

Lucas didn’t say anything, just stared at the ground. When you let out a mumbled, “you should go,” he didn’t hesitate to push past you and slam your door in his way out, making you flinch.

You feared you two might break up from this one, and it seemed he felt the same as he pulled the girl leaning on him - from his spot on the wall - closer, and whispered something in her ear that made her laugh.

He had a beer in his one hand, so you knew he was most likely drunk.

And you were right, he was drunk. By the time he got back to his frat house, he had finally calmed down enough from your fight to rationally think about it, and he immediately wanted to run to his car and drive straight back to you. He felt terrible for saying the things he did amidst his anger. Yet, when he was about to leave, he was roped into the party prep committee, and couldn’t leave. I mean, what could he say?

My girlfriend needs me? No, they wouldn’t believe he has a girlfriend - he didn’t come off as the type, and they would assume he just didn’t want to help. He should have told them, like you wanted so long ago.

So when he hadn’t been given an opportunity to text or call you, he figured that it might be for the best, and you needed time to cool off. And he definitely needed a drink after the lecture he got by his fellow brothers about how he never gets laid at parties, and nows’ the moment. When he was drunkenly shoved into the arms of Soojin - a member of a sorority on campus, and the girl who goes around constantly claiming that she will one day have Lucas (you hated her, she did not know you existed) - he just accepted it, because maybe it would get his brothers off his back, maybe it would get soojin off his back, and it’s not like you’d know. You weren’t there, right? You wouldn’t have come after that fight, right?

Wrong.

Wrong, definitely wrong. Wrong when he looked up from his gaze on Soojin, because he had smelt your delicious and amazing perfume that he loved so much. Wrong when he locked eyes with your own teary ones, trying to scoot past their bodies morphed together, while mumbling an almost incoherent “excuse me” that no one but someone looking would have seen. Wrong when you broke free from the tight space, and speed out of the house, and he didn’t even move, just stood there staring at your retreating figure while Soojin laughed about something that happened, not even knowing what just went down. Wrong when he never went after you, and never called or texted you for a week. Wrong, all wrong.

That week was hell for both you and Lucas.

No one new you too were even dating, so when Renjun and Mark came over because you hadn’t been answering their texts, only to find you burrito wrapped in a blanket with an absurd amount of mac-n-cheese, they assumed you failed a test or something and gave you WRONG words of encouragement (they tried). When Lucas was doing terribly at practice, and was acting completely out of it, nobody asked if he was having relationship troubles. They did ask if he was having girl problems, and when he was about to say yes, his teammates went into a ramble about how taxing a bad one night stand can be on a person. Lucas chose to stay quiet.

He felt like a wimp.

Was he really that much of a loser that he didn’t even try to get you back? Did he even deserve you at all?

However, one night - exactly a week later - Lucas grew a pair (fallopian tubes, of course. Men are whimps and women are TOUGH so from here on out when I say grow a pair, I mean grow a pair of Fallopian tubes) and mapped out the perfect plan to get you back.

Two days later, you were walking through the quad with your head down, on your way to the library, when you smelt a heavy aroma of flowers. When you looked up, you couldn’t believe what you saw.

The whole quad, almost every square inch, was filled with yellow and white daisies.

Yellow and white, your favorite colors. Daisies, your favorite flower.

When you looked around for some source, you locked eyes with a boy who was already looking right at you.

He was wearing a blue tux, and was standing in the center of the daisies with one single rose in his hand. When you slowly approached him and got close enough, he took your hand in his, gave you the rose to hold in your other.

“I know I’m just some lame frat boy. I know I’m a complete loser that thinks a good time is listening to trash music while getting drunk and high, and I don’t deserve someone as amazing as you. I mean, Look at you, and this is you on a regular day.” He was referring to what you were wearing. You had your hair softly curled, and was sporting a yellow, mid-thigh length dress with flowers on it and pure white vans with with yellow, banana socks. You thought you looked basic, but you had to agree that you fit in to the scenery. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said the things I did, and I shouldn’t have made you keep our relationship a secret. You’re a grown woman, and can handle yourself. I love you so much, and I don’t want to lose you. Please, forgive me.” After a few seconds of your silence, a familiar voice came from your left, and when you turned around, you saw a crowd of people had gathered, and Renjun and Mark stood at the front, with mark filming, and renjun shouting,

“KISS HIM!” You chuckled at your best friends words, and when you turned back to a hopeful looking Lucas, you wrapped your arms around his neck, and pulled him into a fairy tale kiss, standing in that daisy field.

The ending is out of character and weird, I know, but I was thinking of Bigfish when I wrote it 😳👉👈 anyway I hope you enjoyed it!👼🏻☁️

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writing-prompts-for-friends · 4 years

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Notes from Stephen King’s “On Writing” 05: Description, Dialogue, Creating Characters

Description

"Description begins in the writer's imagination, but should finish in the reader's."

We all know that too much description robs the reader of their imagination and bores them, yet too little description leaves them confused and scratching their heads. So how can we strike a middle ground with confidence?

"Good description is a learned skill, one of the prime reasons why you cannot succeed unless you read a lot and write a lot. It's not just a question of how to, you see; it's also a question of how much to. Reading will help you answer how much, and only reams of writing will help you with the how. You can learn only by doing."

King says that he personally doesn't like to provide detailed descriptions of how his characters look. He would rather have the reader supply their faces, builds, and clothing. To exemplify, he says:

"If I tell you that Carrie White is a high school outcast with a bad complexion and a fashion-victim wardrobe, I think you can do the rest, can't you? I don't need to give you a pimple-by-pimple, skirt-by-skirt rundown. We all remember one or more high school losers, after all; if I describe mine, it freezes out yours, and I lose a little bit of the bond of understand I want to forge between us. Description begins in the writer's imagination, but should finish in the reader's."

Maybe it's because now more than ever we are obsessed with visual media, be it TV or film or social media, but I personally feel a need to give detailed physical descriptions of my characters. Does anyone else feel the same? But what King said really made a lot of sense to me--by keeping the descriptions of the characters non-distinct, we allow the readers to fill in the gaps and make a character that is even more relatable to them. I think that's genius.

On the other hand, King feels that locale and texture are more important to the reader's sense of actually being in the story. Describe the region the story takes place in (but don't go full Tolkein on your readers, please). Paint a picture of the house and town in broad, distinct strokes.

"For me, good description usually consists of a few well-chosen details that will stand for everything else. In most cases, these details will be the first ones that come to mind. Certainly they will do for a start. If you decide later on that you'd like to change, add, or delete, you can do so--it's what rewrite was invented for. But I think you will find that, in most cases, your first visualized details will be the truest and best. It's as easy to overdescribe as it is to underdescribe. Probably easier."

So let's say that you want to use a certain real-life restaurant as the setting of a scene in your story. This is a restaurant that you have actually frequented. Now close your eyes and picture that place. What are the first 4-5 things that come to your mind? Could be how to looks or smells, what sort of clientele is usually there, anything. Take those 4-5 details and only use those to describe the place in your writing. Let the reader do the rest of the work.

"In many cases when a reader puts a story aside because it 'got boring,' the boredom arose because the writer grew enchanted with his powers of description and lost sight of his priority, which is to keep the ball rolling."

Oh man, I really agree with this. I quit reading LotR because I just couldn't force myself through another description of goddamn rivers and valleys.

On the Use of Similes

"When it's on target, a simile delights us in much the same way meeting an old friend in a crowd of strangers does."

When we compare two seemingly unrelated objects, we are sometimes able to see an old thing in a new and vivid way. But you have to make sure that the simile makes sense and isn't cliched. Don't use "he ran like a madman" or something. Come up with your own.

"The key to good description begins with clear seeing and ends with clear writing, the kind of writing that employs fresh images and simple vocabulary."

There are a lot of authors that do a great job describing things like king says, but there is one specific line from Neil Gaiman's Coraline that stands out to me. Coraline has just discovered the hallway that leads to the Other House, and the sentence describes the hall.

"It smelled like something very old and slow."

Simple vocabulary, yet very fresh. I love this sentence and its eeriness.

Dialogue

"It's dialogue that gives your cast their voices, and is crucial in defining their characters--only what people do tells us more about what they're like, and talk is sneaky: what people say often conveys their character to others in ways of which they--the speakers--are completely unaware."

You can explain through narration or backstory that a character didn't do well in school or didn't finish it, but you could also demonstrate that through dialogue. Conversely, you can show just how smart they are, or how honest/dishonest, lighthearted/serious they are through dialogue alone.

Have you ever read dialogue that makes you think, "Man, nobody talks like this!" because it feels so stilted or forced? I'm certain you have. So how can we prevent ourselves from crafting dialogue that feels inauthentic?

"Dialogue is a skill best learned by people who enjoy talking and listening to others--particularly listening."

Picking up the accents, rhythms, dialect, and slang of various groups helps give your writing a certain veracity that readers pick up on instinctually.

A Word on Political Correctness in Dialogue/Characters

"As with all other aspects of fiction, the key to writing good dialogue is honesty."

King says that not a week goes by that he doesn't get an angry letter accusing him of being foul-mouthed, bigoted, homophobic, murderous, frivolous, or downright psychopathic, and usually the people writing these letters are upset about certain lines of dialogue within his stories.

Sometimes you are going to have a character that holds unpleasant opinions and uses unpleasant words to get them across. That doesn't necessarily mean that what the character believes/says is what you believe. And, in my own opinion, I think it is important to have these non-pc characters in our stories. How can we combat ignorance if we do not draw attention to it? Sweeping it under the rug does nothing but prolong the problem.

So if a character is prone to swearing, don't substitute their expletives for words like "shoot" or "dang." Have them say "shit" or "damn." If a character is a homophobe, have them vocalize their sentiments if the scene deems it appropriate. Don't censor your characters.

Building Characters

"The job of building characters in fiction boils down to two things: paying attention to how the real people around you behave and then telling the truth about what you see."

Take note of the people around you. Many fictional characters are drawn piece by piece from people in real life. For King, what happens to his characters as the story progresses depends solely on what he discovers about them as he goes along. Sometimes their character grows only a little. But other times, their characters grow a so much that they influence the course of the story instead of the other way around.

"I think the best stories always end up being about people rather than the event, which is to say character-driven. Once you get beyond the short story, though (two to four thousand words, let's say), I'm not much of a believer in the so-called character study; I think in the end, the story should always be the boss."

Most readers want to see not only a progression in plot, but also in character development, so trying to have both of those is important.

"It's also important to remember that no one is 'the bad guy' or 'the best friend' or 'the whore with a heart of gold' in real life; in real life we each of us regard ourselves as the main character, the protagonist. If you can bring this attitude into your fiction, you may not find it easier to create brilliant characters, but it will be harder for you to create the sort of one-dimensional dopes that populate so much of pop fiction."

King goes on to explain how when he wrote Misery, a novel about a crazy nurse who holds her favorite author Paul Sheldon hostage in her remote house, he went to great lengths to give the reader a view of the nurse Annie Wilkes' perspective. To us, she seems psychopathic. But to her, she seems perfectly sane and reasonable.

"If I can make you understand her madness--then perhaps I can make her someone you sympathize with or even identify with. The result? She's more frightening than ever, because she's close to real. If, on the other hand, I turn her into a cackling old crone, she's just another pop-up bogeylady. In that case, I lose bigtime, and so does the reader. Who would want to visit with such a stale shrew? That version of Annie was old when The Wizard of Oz was in its first run."

What is really boils down to is making sure that each of your characters are three-dimensional within your own mind. As long as they feel like real people in your head, capable of making rational decisions and feeling rational emotion (as fits their unique nature), that should be able to be seen by the reader as the story unfolds.

On Creative Liberties

“Try any goddamn thing you like, no matter how boringly normal or outrageous. If it works, fine. If it doesn’t toss it. Toss it even if you love it. Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch once said, ‘Murder your darlings,’ and he was right.”

Write however you want. Use whatever techniques you want. Have fun with it. It’s yours before it is anybody else’s. And you can’t please all the readers all the time, but if you can come out happy with the end product, surely you can please some of the readers some of the time, and that is enough.

Source: King, Stephen. On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft. Hodder, 2012.

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hopewritings · 4 years

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Transfer Student

Student From Beyond the Grave

Even after everything that had already happened, I couldn’t help but feel depressed. After all, lying in front of me was the dead body of my friend and classmate, Kaito Momota...

Around me, were equally dispirited faces. It was practically impossible for anyone to imagine someone like Kaito dying so suddenly... even if his motivational speeches were embarrassing sometimes, it was undeniable that he was one of our sources of hope in this place. But even among all of us, there was someone who had blatantly been more affected about it all...

Turned away from the rest of us, on the corner of the room, stood Shuichi. Even in the position I was in, his face was visible; tears rolled down each of his cheeks as he pressed his cap harder into his skull, as if trying to bring to reality all his feelings. For a split second, I found myself on my way towards him to put a hand on his shoulder and spurt comforting words, but stopped as soon as I remembered the argument we had and how we had been ignoring each other since. No... why am I hesitating? Who cares about a stupid fight... this is about much more...

“May Atua carry his soul peacefully onto Heaven,” announced Angie before I even had a chance to continue.

As Shuichi turned around to focus on her, our gazes met for an instant. Like I had been possessed by an outside force, I jerked my head to the side, avoiding his eyes; the shame I felt managed to surpass the guilt for an instant and I didn't dare look back.

“Heaven my ass!” Miu screamed. “Hey, con artist! Use your magic to revive astroboy or somethin’!”

“Nyeh? I’m all outta MP now…” Himiko said.

“It’s okay, Himiko. We don't need magic to bring Kaito back!” Angie said with a smile, unbothered by the whole situation.

“Excuse me?” Keebo gasped, just as surprised as everyone else.

Angie shut her eyes and interlaced her fingers as everyone stared at her. “We can speak to Kaito! If we ask for Atua’s help, He’ll surely grant us one last conversation with his soul! All we need is to prepare the ritual!”

“Ri... tual?” I said, a bad feeling hitting me on the gut. A nervous chuckle escaped my lips. “It... does sound like a noble act, but... are you sure this can work? I mean, not to doubt anything, it’s just that it sounds too…”

“Far-fetched!” Tenko completed the sentence for me. “I mean, who’d even go in something like that?”

“I’m going to do it.”

The voice made all of us turn around. Shuichi was standing tall, with a pained but determined expression on his face, clutching his shirt instead of his hat now. What? There’s no way he isn’t being serious, but at the same time... it’s hard to believe he’d accept something like that. Being the Ultimate Detective and all, he was always moved by logic...

“If it means I get to speak to Kaito again... I’ll do anything.” he added, answering the unspoken questions of all the surprised gazes.

“Nyahaha, how wonderful! Who else would like to join?” Angie laughed, clearly satisfied with herself.

“Umm... I think I’d rather not get involved with stuff like that, thanks...” said Tsumugi, sweat dripping of her forehead.

“Ritual to... talk to Kaito?” Gonta said. Out of all of us, he was probably the most confused. “Sorry... Gonta no understand... Gonta stay quiet...”

“Kehehe... a seance, then... how interesting! I’d love to see the beauty of this culture...” Korekiyo said, voice coming muffled through his mask.

“Hmpth! I know for sure this isn’t gonna work... and I’m going just to prove that and stare at your dumb faces when nothing happens!” Miu said.

I glanced all around the room trying to read everyone’s expressions in awe. My eyes stopped right on Shuichi, who was still staring forwards at Angie; whether he was refusing to look back or too unfocused to even notice my gaze, I wasn’t sure.

“H-hold on! Are we... actually going to follow through with this?!” exclaimed Keebo.

As if answering his question, Kokichi immediately started jumping up and down like a child in a candy store. “Okay, okay, I’m going too! It was starting to get a little boring around over here... and if Shumai is going too, I have nothing to lose! Riiight?”

Shuichi ignored Kokichi as hard as he was doing to me, all of his attention focused on Kaito. All I want right now is for everything to go back to what it was like before... and if it takes a ritual, that’s fine.

“Everyone... I think I’m going to participate, too, if that’s alright.” I spoke up.

“Ah? You too, Kaede? How amazing! Atua is so glad all of us are going to reach out for him!” said Angie. “Now, now, let’s see... me, Shuichi, Korekiyo, Miu, Kokichi and Kaede! Six people! What a divine number!”

“Can we just... do it now?” Shuichi said.

“Yeah, let’s go! But how do we do it? Are we gonna do it right here?” Kokichi asked.

“No... we need a special place to perform the ritual. A very quiet, dark, and isolated place...”

“Well, then...” Korekiyo started with a cough to catch our attention. “How about one of the empty rooms of the fourth floor? They appear to fit this criteria, yes?”

“Yeah, I think so... there are no windows there, so all we’d need to do is blow out the candles.” I agreed.

“Fine! This stupid shit is already wasting my time, so let’s just get it over with already!” Miu yelled, tapping her boots against the floor.

“Good luck, everyone! Tell Kaito that Gonta say hi and sorry for not protecting him!” Gonta said as he waved to us.

Tsumugi forced a smile as she looked at us. “Yeah... I hope this all works. If you’d ask me, it sounds plainly impossible... but I don’t know.”

Himiko shrugged. “Do whatever you want, I guess.”

“I agree with Himiko!” Tenko was quick to add.

The group of us who had agreed to the ritual walked towards the door to leave, with Shuichi and Angie taking the lead as expected. A feeling urged me to at least stay close to him in a moment like this, but with everyone else in front of me, it was hard to reach him.

But... am I being selfish? This is supposed to be about Kaito... but I’m only using it as an opportunity to make amends with Shuichi. To fix my own mistake... a wave of guilt crashed against me as my pace slowed down.

“Hey, Kaede, you slowpoke! If you don’t catch up to us, we’re gonna leave you behind and you’re never gonna speak to Kaito again!” I was brought back to reality by Kokichi’s voice.

Looking up from the ground, I realized just how far behind I was from everyone else and rushed to follow them closely again. Still my gaze was focused on Shuichi...

“Hey, should I tell Shuichi about how you’re staring so hard you might burn some holes into the back of his shirt?” Kokichi asked, appearing by my side and making me jump, startled.

“You...!” I said before closing my mouth and glaring at him. “Kokichi, remember what I told you before... some things are better left unsaid!”

“Sounds more like you’re trying to run away from your problems to me... nee-heehee.”

“No, it’s not that... it’s just... ugh!”

I had to admit... he was an annoying brat, but he was an intelligent annoying brat. Just like he had said it before, being a skilled liar himself allowed him to read other people’s emotions easily...

“Hah, I knew it! You don’t know what to say ‘cause you know it’s the truth!”

“Yeah, maybe it is, Kokichi! So what?”

“Oh, geez, no need to get mad. I was just pointing it out.” he pouted, but I looked away. “I’m only trying to help you, Kaede, you know that?”

I couldn’t help but furrow my eyebrows at that. “Help me? What do you mean?”

“The answer is boringly obvious in this case... so I’m just gonna let you figure that part out by yourself!”

Leaving me in the mystery, Kokichi turned away and started walking faster. Whatever... I shouldn’t bother too much with that. It’s probably just another lie of his. I can deal with Shuichi myself...

After some more walking, we finally arrived in front of the three empty rooms of the fourth floor.

“So... which one shall we pick?” Korekiyo asked.

“Ehh, whatever, no way something as petty as that matters! Just pick any of them!” said Miu, probably starting to regret having accepted.

“Then let’s use... the middle one.” Shuichi said.

“Nyahaha! Wonderful choice, Shuichi!” Angie made her way towards the door and came inside, leaving the door open for the rest of us.

If I had to describe that room in one word, that’d be eerie. Everything just looked so ancient and abandoned; I had been right when I said that without the candles, it’d be pitch black. The back of the place wasn’t even visible, buried into the darkness the light couldn’t reach.

“What a creepy ass place! I can’t believe we’re doing this here!” Miu exclaimed.

“To me... it sounds like the perfect place to perform something such as a ritual.” said Korekiyo as he looked around. “And trust me, I have a lot of experience.”

“Alright, everyone! Now... I’ll do some preparations for the ritual!”

After saying that, Angie reached for a paint brush and a pot of ink in the inside part of her coat, and after taking them out and mixing them, she started to paint a circle covering almost the whole floor. There were quite the details too; I noticed her feeling around the planks to get the measures just right.

“Oh, and of course! There’s a really important thing I almost forgot!” she said after she was done. “To call out to Atua, we’ll need to sing a song!”

“We need to fuckin’ sing too now?! This God’s more demanding than a horny loser with a prostitute in bed!”

“I don’t know, I think singing sounds cool!” said Kokichi, excited.

“I’ll copy all the lyrics for you all to know!”

Angie took a piece of paper from her coat and started writing down all the lyrics. Grouping up near the candle, all of us read the words and listened to her singing the melody before we all had everything memorized.

“Great, great, everyone! Atua is proud of your job!” Angie clapped for us. “Now that all the preparations are done, we need a spirit medium! Someone for Kaito’s spirit to go in! Hmm, it’d work best with boys, since Kaito was a boy too...”

“Then... I’ll do it.” Shuichi announced. “I... can’t think of anyone else but me for Kaito’s spirit to go into.”

“No, I’ll do it!” We turned towards the voice to see Kokichi grinning brightly. “I mean, you won’t be able to talk to him if he possesses you. That very much is obvious, Shuichi. So let me take care of that job, ‘kay? Even if it means getting dumb ol’ Kaito inside of me... but after this, don’t let me catch you ever being all emo again, alright?!”

Kokichi...

I felt like these words really were true. Even if he was talking like that, I know that he meant everything deep inside.

“Alright then! Kokichi, you must lie down right here in the center of the circle!” Angie instructed, and he did as she said. “How are you feeling? Be sure you’re comfortable, since once we start, you won’t be able to move or speak!”

“I’m a-okay! Aww, alright then… see you guys after the seance!” Kokichi said, giving us one last smile before he pressed his forehead against the floor.

“Very well!” Angie continued. “Each one of you four should go to a corner of the room! I’ll stay in front of the door!”

She took a few steps back, staying in a front line in the direction of Kokichi. Likewise, the rest of us went to the corners of the room; since Shuichi and I were both on the front corners, we were near the candles.

“Now, Shuichi and Kaede, blow out the candles!”

At the same time, we turned around and blew them out, turning the whole room pitch black. Goosebumps coursed through my body… this whole thing was becoming creepier and creepier by the moment.

At last, at last, at long last

Angie’s cheery voice erupted from the silence, leading us into the song. Soon, all our voices united to sing the lyrics.

Young guard dog and little lost boy lying deep against the ground At mountain’s bottom, within the darkness At last, at last, at long last How many will there be by down? Will there be two or just one?

CRASH!

Did the guard dog run far away? Or did it eat the little boy? At last, at last… at long last…

The song was done… I was glad. I heard a loud strange noise right near the end… what the heck even was that? There’s no way it was nothing, and this worries me...

“Is the lost child... Kaito Momota?” asked Angie.

Silence. I swallowed as I clung to my clothes in concern.

“Of course he isn’t gonna answer, ‘cause Kaito’s fucking dead!”

“Miu... don’t interfere with the ritual. Do you want to unleash a curse upon us?”

“Is the lost child... Kaito Momota?” she repeated, only to receive no answer once again. “Hmm... how weird! Shuichi, Kaede, turn the lights back on!”

Hurriedly, I grabbed the box of matches sitting near the candle support and lit it up again. After Shuichi did the same, the room was finally clear enough for us to look around.

“Ha! I told you shit wouldn’t hap-- Wait, whaaaat?!”

I looked at the direction Miu was staring with her mouth open, only to gasp myself. The spot Kokichi had been just seconds ago was now empty, with no trace of him anywhere around. My mind went to a blank when I tried to imagine what could have happened… there’s no way he could have just disappeared from thin air… right?

“Holy fuck! This ritual bullshit is actually real?! The shota’s just popped outta existence!”

“N-no… that isn’t possible! I’m sure that… he must be around somewhere, right? He’s probably just playing one of his pranks on us…” I said, but my stuttering and pauses didn’t make it much better.

“Or perhaps… Miu really botched the ritual.” Korekiyo glared daggers at her.

“H-hiaghh! Don’t look at me with such a scary face!” she said, cowering behind me.

“Then we can’t stay still… we need to look around for Kokichi!” Shuichi said, tiny drops of sweat running down his forehead.

“Right!”

All of us rushed out of the room through the door and looked all around the fourth floor, only to find no clues of Kokichi’s location. Throughout the whole investigation, Shuichi was erratic, as if all his sadness had left to give place to worry.

“He is nowhere around here… let’s try seeing the third floor, alright?” I proposed.

We sprinted down the steps of the stairs, finally arriving on the third floor. But as soon as we turned to the side, a sight unlike everything we expected was waiting for us…

I could barely process the image in front of me. Kokichi’s body was sprawled over the ground, his head lying against a pool of his own blood. At any moment, I expected him to jump up, a smirk on his face as he announced it was all just another lie, one I’d end up welcoming… but this never came.

“Kokichi!” Shuichi screamed as he ran past all of us towards him, his voice filled with a despair I had never seen.

Before any of us could even try to stop him, Shuichi fell on his knees right by Kokichi’s side and started shaking him, trying to get any form of reaction. When he pulled Kokichi against his lap, the large, bloody injury on his forehead was exposed, contrasting against this serene expression, almost as though he were sleeping.

And then, making our blood run cold, it came.

“A body has been discovered!”

#fanfic #drv3 #kaede akamatsu #shuichi saihara #angie yonaga #kokichi oma #death

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junker-town · 5 years

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4 winners and 6 losers from a boringly quiet NFL trade deadline

Aqib Talib and Kenyan Drake were moved ahead of the NFL trade deadline, but Jamal Adams was the biggest name dangled on the block.

The Jets kept Jamal Adams, which is good! And bad!

Teams across the NFL built hype leading up to the Oct. 29 trade deadline. Stars like Jalen Ramsey, Michael Bennett, and Emmanuel Sanders all found new homes before Week 8 came to a close, building anticipation for what promised to be an array of last-minute wheeling and dealing to set up the final half of the 2019 season. Names like Le’Veon Bell, Jamal Adams, and Trent Williams all cropped up on wish lists and on trade rumors throughout the day.

Then the 4 p.m. ET deadline came and went. Nothing happened.

Adams and Bell remained in football purgatory with the Jets. The Patriots did nothing to address their lack of tight end depth. The Bears looked at their roster, shrugged, and said “whatever.”

Even if Tuesday was devoid of action — with the exception of an Aqib Talib salary dump move between the Rams and Dolphins — that doesn’t mean it won’t affect the outcome of the regular season. Plenty of teams still won and lost based on their action, or lack thereof, throughout the week. So who fits where?

Winner: New England Patriots

The Pats didn’t get any help to bolster their offensive line. That suggests they are confident second-year left tackle Isaiah Wynn will be able to return from injured reserve before the year is through to spell occasional turnstile Marshall Newhouse protecting Tom Brady’s blindside. The team decided to stand pat when it came to Brady’s targets as well, which means New England is expecting dividends from newly acquired Mohamed Sanu and rookie N’Keal Harry, who is eligible to return from his own IR stint in Week 9.

More importantly, the rest of the AFC didn’t do much to attempt to reel in the Pats, who currently have a 2.5-game cushion in the race for homefield advantage. While the Texans added Gareon Conley and the Ravens traded for Marcus Peters earlier in October, everyone else in the conference either stayed put or sold off talent. New England didn’t need much help at the deadline, but watching its rivals keep quiet may have been just as big as another Bill Belichick deal in 2019.

Plus, the Patriots signed the greatest kicker in AAF history. No trade needed.

The #Patriots are signing free agent K Nick Folk, source said. Most recently, he held the AAF record for longest field goal at 55 yards. He’s also played for the #Bucs, #Jets and #Cowboys.

— Ian Rapoport (@RapSheet) October 29, 2019

Loser: New York Jets

The Jets dangled their best defender, and most outspoken and emotional athlete, on deadline day, only to reel Jamal Adams back in when other teams refused to offer them a Ramsey-ian return for the Pro Bowl safety. Though New York ultimately made the right decision to keep him, news of the attempted trade may cause a rift between a young building block and a franchise that desperately needs all the budding talent it can find.

At the end of the week last week, I sat down with the GM and Coach Gase and told them I want to be here in New York. I was told yesterday by my agent that the GM then went behind my back and shopped me around to teams, even after I asked him to keep me here! Crazy business.

— Jamal Adams (@TheAdamsEra) October 29, 2019

Adams was reportedly open to a move back to his home state of Texas, but denied wanting any part of a trade less than two hours after the deadline came to an end. That makes it tough to spin a positive from the two sides nearly parting ways in the midst of another season beginning to visibly frustrate the young defensive back. Though general manager Joe Douglas says he wasn’t actively shopping anyone, the Jets were a common topic at the trade deadline — and that only stands to sow more discord in one of the league’s most broken teams.

Loser: Baltimore Ravens (and Jamal Adams)

Although the Jets certainly screwed up by making some of their top players available before not moving any of them, the teams that failed to land these players also came out on the losing side. Adams is the big name; both the Cowboys and Ravens were in on him, per multiple reports.

While it’s difficult to see where Dallas would have fit Adams on its ballooning payroll, the Ravens have the space and more importantly, the need for a player like Adams. Baltimore is at a pivotal point in its season. The club sits at 5-2 atop the AFC North, but its 26th-ranked passing defense leaves a gaping hope that could be filled by an enforcer like Adams. Additionally, Adams is a phenomenal player who would probably have found a lot more success with the Ravens (or Cowboys, for that matter) than he would with the Jets, who can’t decide where they stand in the rebuilding process.

Winner: Buffalo Bills

The Bills are building smartly and slowly, handling quarterback Josh Allen with kid gloves as they put together a roster around him. Though some receiving help would have been a boon, acquiring a soon-to-be free agent like A.J. Green in exchange for a high draft pick ultimately may have been a step backward. Buffalo didn’t correlate its 5-2 start against a soft schedule with a reason to overpay for a temporary addition. That’s something the team will value come next offseason.

Loser: Cincinnati Bengals

Cincinnati is 0-8 and will now turn to fourth-round rookie Ryan Finley at quarterback after benching Andy Dalton (on his damn birthday, no less!). This is not a team with designs for 2019, and all logic suggests it should be stockpiling assets for 2020.

Instead, the Bengals made zero trades after last April’s draft and held steady with a roster that’s been outscored by an average of more than 10 points per game this fall. While the fans in southwestern Ohio can take solace in the hope they’ll get eight more games of A.J. Green before he can leave in free agency, they have to be concerned the Bengals were either unwilling to sell off parts or, even worse, unattractive to teams looking for even modest veteran help.

Winner: Los Angeles Rams

LA needed to find a way to create a little salary cap space after pushing all their chips to the center of the table by acquiring Ramsey. The Dolphins — the poor, hopeless Dolphins — were happy to oblige. Miami took injured cornerback Aqib Talib and the roughly $4 million in salary he’s still due in 2019 off the Rams’ hands for the reasonable cost of a 2020 fifth-round draft pick. Los Angeles can now use that room to convert some of next year’s cap clog into this year’s bonuses and add a little more spending room to its coffers.

Winner: Miami Dolphins

The goal in 2019 is to tank and the Dolphins added more fuel to that effort ahead of the trade deadline.

Step one was to trade Kenyan Drake to the Cardinals for a conditional sixth-round pick that could become a fifth-rounder. That’s not much, but it’s a decent return for a player in the final year of his rookie deal who was nine games away from never playing for the Dolphins again.

Step two was a shrewd deal that puts Aqib Talib on the roster for no reason other than acquiring another draft pick. The Dolphins will eat the veteran cornerback’s salary and send a seventh-round pick in 2022 to the Rams, but get a 2020 fifth-round pick in return. Talib’s headed for free agency in March and Miami has more than enough cap space to pay his salary for the rest of 2019.

Step three wasn’t really a trade deadline move, but the Dolphins did put Xavien Howard on injured reserve Tuesday. He was Miami’s only Pro Bowler in 2018 and the already awful defense will be much worse without him.

The tank is still very much on.

Loser: Washington

Washington apparently shifted gears and tried to sell left tackle Trent Williams — who hasn’t played a game for the team in 2019 as part of a contract standoff — at a premium price after rejecting trade overtures for him throughout the season. No one bit:

The one quote that stands out talking with league sources on possible Trent Williams move - Redskins wouldn’t take calls on a trade for months, “nobody wants to bail them out now.”

— JP Finlay (@JPFinlayNBCS) October 29, 2019

Williams reported to the team’s facilities immediately after the trade deadline, but may not plan on actually playing over the last half of the season. He’ll be eligible for free agency in 2020, so it’s possible general manager Bruce Allen may completely blank the final season of one of his franchise’s best players while getting nothing but a 2021 compensatory pick in return.

Loser: O.J. Howard

Howard was primed for a breakout after setting career highs with 34 catches and 565 receiving yards in just 10 games in 2018. However, his third season as a pro has seen him fall out of favor with new Buccaneers head coach Bruce Arians. The explosive tight end — he averaged 16.6 yards per catch leading up to ‘19 — has only 13 receptions in six games without a single trip to the end zone. While a hamstring injury has affected his impact, it’s clear that tight ends are not a major component of Arians’ offensive philosophy; Howard and Cameron Brate have combined for only 38 of Jameis Winston’s 255 targets (14.9 percent) so far this year.

A change of scenery would have allowed the former first-round pick to regain his value as a high-impact target. It also would have given his new team the opportunity to pick up a pricy fifth-year option that looms in 2021 — a commitment in which the Bucs likely have little interest. Instead he’ll remain in Tampa, picking up the scraps of whatever Arians’ WR-heavy offense leaves behind.

Loser: New York Giants

The Giants acquired defensive tackle Leonard Williams from the Jets on Monday. Even though Pat Shurmur’s team desperately needs defensive help, the pickup doesn’t make a whole lot of sense contractually. Williams is set to be a free agent at the end of this season, and he cost the NFC’s New York team a 2020 third-round pick and a conditional fifth-round pick in 2021.

If Williams decides to not re-sign with the Giants at the end of the season, they will have given up those draft picks for a brief rental of a player who has failed to live up to his potential in the NFL. Williams, the former No. 6 overall pick in 2015, has recorded just eight total tackles and zero sacks this season. The Giants, currently 2-6, may have just given up draft picks for a decent player on a down year, and he might not be with the team after the season. Yikes!

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n00dl3gal · 7 years

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Despair is How I Say I Love You (Danganronpa)

I'm still fairly new to the DR fandom, but I always wondered just how broken Junko's psyche really was. These are my ideas for how she'd react to the Killing Game unfolding, and her relationship with the rest of the 78th Class.

I was inspired partially by @lukastarkiller‘s series "glory and gore go hand in hand (that's why we're making headlines)." It's a fascinating look at the 77th Class's despair, I highly recommend it.

Thanks to @mustardpig for proofreading.

Read on AO3 here.

Junko Enoshima could count on one hand the number of times she had cried in her life- genuinely, actually cried, not the crocodile tears she used to manipulate people or for the camera during photo shoots.

The first was when she was mere hours old and she had realized how utterly boring the world was. So predictable and meaningless. It was her first real taste of despair- the despair of living, of knowing how life would unfold.

She cried for the second time when she was cornered by a bulky man, whispering what he could do to a pretty girl like her. She managed to scramble away, but her heart beat faster than she thought was possible. Junko was scared for the first time, and the despair of fear was something she relished. It felt real, it was something new and unprecedented and so, so good.

Junko cried for the third time when her dear sister Mukuro ran off to join a band of mercenaries. She wept not out of concern for Mukuro- she knew her older sister would be fine, she figured that out immediately, given her prowess in combat and agility- but rather out of jealousy. She wanted to feel the despair of the battlefield, to be surrounded by death and suffering; maybe even enjoy the ultimate, bitter despair of death- God, wouldn’t that just be wonderful? But instead she was stuck doing modeling jobs, forcing a smile and a personality.

The last time Junko Enoshima cried was when she began the second killing game and knew her classmates would die.

. . .

Headmaster Jin screamed all the louder when Junko turned off the voice modulator for Monokuma. “Hope has peaked,” she drawled, “and despair comes crashing down.” Not her best line, to be sure, but it did the trick. The headmaster struggled against the ropes, pleading with her by name, wondering if this was a mistake-

And then the doors to the rocket closed. And he went flying.

When he crashed back to earth, Junko chuckled and gathered his bones. She wondered if Kyoko would admire the effort she went to to get such a despairing present.

. . .

Things were going mostly according to plan, boringly enough. The memory removal process had gone perfectly and none of the students suspected they knew one another. Sakura was willing to be the mole and feed Monokuma- and by extension, Junko- information on the group. The only flaw was Mukuro’s performance. She slipped out-of-character more than once and deviated from the script. Something might have to be done about her.

Junko turned to the controls for the trap door in the gymnasium and began to reprogram it.

. . .

The first one to go was the Ultimate Pop Sensation, Sayaka Maizono.

It’s not surprising, really. The girl was an idiot for thinking she could kill Leon, a professional athlete. Granted, it was mostly an accident- Leon didn’t mean to stab her in the gut. But murder is still murder, and must be punished.

She readied the courtroom and prepared a batting cage.

(Makoto’s screams when he discovers her, though- Junko has plans for him. Such despair-inducing plans.)

. . .

For once, Mukuro was following the script. Throw a fit and step on Monokuma. It’s most unfortunate that Junko had decided to change the plot.

She felt the sharpest pang of despair to date, and buried beneath it, a speck of regret. She’s killed her beloved sister, her dear, ugly, pathetic Mukuro Ikusaba. The other half of the Ultimate Despair (well, unless you count Izuru and the 77th class, but she cares little for their activities). It’s heartbreaking and Junko was nearly overcome with despair.

And then she saw Mukuro’s face, her shocked expression, her eyes wide, the gasp of realization still painted on her lips as she dies. Knowing that she felt the same level of despair Junko was at death is overwhelming. Unbearable.

It was all she could do to keep Monokuma running properly.

. . .

It’s almost pitiful, the way Leon pleaded for his life. Begging for forgiveness, pounding on unmoving doors. In fact, most people would have considered it pitiful.

But Junko wasn’t most people.

She maneuvered Monokuma into hitting the gavel, beginning the execution. A chain flew out of a side door to grasp Leon’s neck. He was already screaming in terror, and he hadn’t even been chained to the post and hit by a single baseball yet.

Pathetic, Junko thought.

Predictably, everyone- save Leon- was forced into stunned silence, as bruises and blood appear over Leon’s body. Junko hadn’t accounted for him to hold out so long, but by the time all 1,000 balls have been shot, his corpse was limp against the chains.

And the despair. Oh, the despair on her former classmates’ faces. She could bathe in it, swim in it, drown in it. It’s but a taste of what is to come, and she knew that this would be entirely worth it.

. . .

She had deduced that Chihiro would be an easy target, especially since the students were once again clueless to his real gender. Junko also had realized Mondo would likely end up a culprit- between his size and temper, eventually something would push him over the horizon. Mondo hadn’t even doctored the crime scene to save himself; no, it was to honor the secret Chihiro had trusted him with. What good were secrets to a corpse?

But for all her planning and analysis, she hadn’t been expecting Byakuya of all people to tend to Chihiro’s body. Except… this was no process for burial or even mourning. He was acting far too suspiciously for that. The way he was assembling the scene… it resembled something one of her other classmates might create.

It was a setup. Oh, how interesting.

. . .

Kiyotaka, the idiot, had voted for himself. Was that the moron’s “hope?” Believing in a confessed killer, trusting his “friend’s” innocence over factual evidence? God, he was a fool.

But he was falling, sinking deeper into despair. It was plainly obvious, and Junko relished in it. The rest of the class had teared up some over Mondo’s past as well (save Byakuya and Jill, of course- oh, Jill was now a factor. That could be fun ), but once the Ultimate Biker Gang Leader was strapped to the motorcycle…

Ah, delicious despair. She applauded her idea to allude to Little Black Sambo, it really gave the death an added layer of irony. With any luck, the other students would pick up on her subtle commentary. If not, what did it matter? Another student was dead, another well of despair had sprung.

(She watched Makoto very carefully. It was still too early, but she would outsmart him.)

. . .

Of course Junko knew about Alter Ego. She may have not kept any broadcasting cameras in the baths, but she was still fully aware of everything going on inside of the school. Still, it wouldn’t be a problem. Just an additional challenge to overcome, something to alleviate the boredom.

And on the subject of boring, the deaths kept being predictable. Kiyotaka may have stood a chance, had he not become so close to Mondo. Admittedly, Hifumi being the killer was a bit surprising, but whatever. She had custom executions for everyone, even if most wouldn’t see any use.

Would it be fair to call Hifumi the blackened, though? True, it was him that dealt the fatal blow, but it was under Celeste’s orders. Ah, the Ultimate Gambler. Worthy of her title, Junko admitted. She, at least, was playing the game as intended, offing and framing her opponents. Junko wouldn’t say she had “high hopes” for her- why would she, when it involved hope- but perhaps “high expectations” would be appropriate.

But then, Celeste killed Hifumi herself. And Hifumi, ever the dramatic, had seemingly damned Yasuhiro even more than the ridiculous Robo-Justice suit. Ah, would they make the right decision? Most likely. They still had Kyoko on their side. Not even wiping her talent from memory could remove the ability itself.

She prepared the stage for Taeko Yasuhiro. Even with all her skills as a gambler- and a liar- it is nothing in the face of Ultimate Luck.

. . .

“Perhaps we’ll meet again, in another life.” It figured that Taeko would attempt to go out with dignity. A sore loser did not match her elegant persona.

But it was still just a persona, and that was something Junko would not indulge her in. Burning at the stake was a fitting death for Celestia Ludenberg, true, but for plain, boring, ordinary Taeko Yasuhiro? It simply wouldn’t do.

There would be no despair in it.

And thus, a fire truck rammed into her flaming body, ending the witch hunt prematurely. Would her classmates- would the world - appreciate the irony? It was doubtful. They had yet to pick up on any of her commentary with the executions. How disappointing.

At least should could despair in her efforts going to waste, just as they despaired in the most despicable murder yet. Celeste really was a monster, planning her murders like that.

Another life, though. The words rung around in Junko’s head. Only seven students remained- it was due time she considered her plan failing and her own, personal despair. She must get in contact with Izuru and Monaca, and quickly.

. . .

Technically, Sakura had fulfilled her duty as the mole by killing a student. Junko had only herself to blame for not making it more clear it should’ve been someone other than Sakura herself.

And the students upon discovering her- they all so desperately wanted to blame themselves. Even when they knew she was a traitor, a person willing to kill for her already destroyed dojo, they refused to believe it was a suicide. How could they be so blind? It was despairingly obvious, between the locked doors and her manner of death.

Still, she might as well have some fun with the whole charade. A fake suicide note would do wonders to make the trial more of a puzzle. She really was growing bored with the whole game. Maybe if she still had Mukuro to talk to… but it wasn’t as if Mukuro ever said anything interesting , even while alive.

. . .

When the trial began, Junko snuck out of the control room and into the baths. She had to retrieve the special guest.

It didn’t take long, fortunately, as the students seemed intent on calling on Monokuma for clarification at every possible point. How despairingly annoying. They were really so daft, so naive , to think that they had forced Sakura to suicide? They might as well have, Junko was beginning to seriously consider it. No, better to wait. She’d miss out on the despair, otherwise.

And this execution was particularly heartbreaking, or so she imagined. Seeing a link to a tragically killed friend, their supposed lifeline to the outside world… ah, the horror and grief on their faces would have to subside her for now.

She focused on two students in particular, however- Kyoko and Makoto. As bored of the plan as she was, they were making it interesting. Unpredictable . And with the students vowing to stop the killing game, Junko would have to use their unpredictability to her advantage.

Mukuro might actually be able to serve her a purpose, now. How fitting.

. . .

She had intended to kill Kyoko. But Makoto and his stupid hope, his disgusting trust in others robbed her of her most interesting toy. Junko wanted nothing more than to throw a temper tantrum like a spoiled child, to end the game right there and massacre them all.

But she maintained her composure and sent Makoto on his way.

The irony of the execution would be mostly lost, sadly. Junko supposed it could be taken as “crushing the student’s hope,” but she had an execution for Makoto planned. And now the world would never get to see it. Well, no use crying over it. She had lasers and stages and 8-bit Monokumas that were left unused, what was one barrel and a few swords?

The desk inched closer and closer to the pulverizer. Junko wondered idly if this would be Makoto’s only sex-ed lesson.

And then- it stopped. The shaking, the pounding stopped. And on the screen that was meant to display Monokuma was-

“How in the hell did that survive?” Junko screamed. “I destroyed your computer! I wiped you from the mainframe! How are you-”

Makoto fell, fell deep into the pile of trash, and Junko was left shaking with rage. It didn’t last long, however; she simply smoothed her skirt and grinned. Makoto would still die, rotting with the garbage. And even if he escaped- as if, even with Ultimate Luck, he’d still succumb to thirst and hunger- well.

Junko Enoshima would have her despair, one way or the other.

. . .

So this is how it ends.

They chose hope. Junko Enoshima had filled the remaining students of Hope’s Peak Academy with absolute, undeniable despair, and they still managed to choose hope. All because of Makoto Naegi.

“Why that’s just…” she growled, curling her fists… before letting her hands fly to her face, body quivering. “Simply the best!”

This was the despair she had been craving! The despair of failure, of defeat, of death! She was finally going to die! Oh, she had dreamed of this moment, and to finally have it realized was more despair-inducing than anything she had ever felt in her life! She would join Mukuro and Yasuke in the bitter afterlife, if there was such a thing, she would finally know-

But then they interrupted her monologue, her gushing of despair and how delightful it all was, to blather on about hope and peace and friendship and rebuilding the world and it caused her more despair, the wrong kind of despair, Junko had to do something-

“Fine, let me just say one last thing... If you guys wanna get all hung up on the word ‘hope,’ that’s no skin off my nose… but just be warned…” she said, deliberately keeping her face blank. “From this point on, one despair after another will stand in your way. No matter where you run, no matter where you hide… maybe you’ll find some hope, but there is a very fine line dividing that hope from bitter despair.” She laughed, drool sliding down her chin, sweat dripping from her bangs. “Knowing that, you still plan to cling to your hope?”

Makoto spoke then, but Junko didn’t hear it. “Shut up, shut up! That was a rhetorical question!” she screeched. “I’m almost done though, so, whatever… Because it’s almost punishment time, isn’t it?”

The remaining students stared at her, gasping, suggesting that- that she live- that she not succumb to despair- to give hope a chance- “DON’T GET IN MY WAY!” She dashed to Monokuma’s throne, flipping the lid over the button.

“Puhuhu… puhuhuhu! So this is how the despair of death feels… ahh, it’s so wonderful!” It really was, nothing had made her feel so good, not the act of killing her boyfriend, or her sister, or watching the entire world fall at the knees because of her- “Even a tenth of this despair, even a hundredth…” Junko’s body shook, knowing the agony she was about to suffer. She rambled, wishing for the whole world to feel the same despair as her, to die and live full of despair, despair was everything, despair was all that mattered, despair was Junko Enoshima-

“Let’s give it everything we’ve got. It’s… PUNISHMENT TIME! AHAHAHAHAHAHA!”

And as her laughter echoed across the courtroom, she slammed her fist on the button.

All of the punishments, the batting cage, the burning castle, the rocket ship- all of them. She would go through them all, taste the same despair as her victims. Even if they didn’t individually kill her- she had lowered the lethality quite a bit, she wanted to despair through them all, she would succumb. She would perish .

Junko Enoshima would die.

It wasn’t the baseballs that did her in, nor the motorcycle. She yawned and meditated through the flames. The excavator was little more than a back massage . The rocket ship left some bruises, leaving only the crushing machine to do her in.

How fitting. What was meant to take out her greatest adversaries would instead be her demise. The irony was despairing. Despair, despair, despair, she was going to die, Junko would die, THIS WAS THE ULTIMATE DESPAIR- The conveyor belt froze beneath the block. Junko, still clutching Monokuma to her chest, looked up. She was supposed to be dead. Why wasn’t she dead why wasn’t she-

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