i wrote an umbrella academy/harry potter crossover fic!
summary:
daisy jaimee potter did not spend who-knows-how-long stuck in the body of a mannequin at the end of the bloody world just to be named dolores.
- five/daisy
- agedup!five
- fem!harry
- daisy is delores/dolores
- post-deathly hallows, ewe
- slight adjustments to harry potter dates
- actual chapters aren't in lowercase
oooh can i please request a blurb for kaz?? the reader is a horrible cook and all the crows know it but kaz eats her food without any complaint
no one in the Dregs ate your food. you were a terrible cook. everything was either over cooked and burnt, or still raw. but you loved cooking anyway.
you'd made your attempt at a cake for Rotty's birthday. no one was touching it. you knew you weren't a good cook, but it still stung.
but when Kaz walked over and took a slice, it made you smile a bit. he ate your cake without any complaint. part of it was because he'd had worse food, but it was also because he cared about you and hated seeing you upset.
not that you would ever know, and if anyone told you they'd face the same fate as Oomen.
authorâs note:Â it's been a long long time?? i feel like most of the hype for alice in borderland has gone now, but i've gotten the urge to write again. so sorry it took so long! i'm thinking i'll do big chapters every update since future updates will probably a while, depending on my mood. hope you like it!
summary: Kuroba Chiyori may be born in the Borderlands, but no way in hell does she want to die in it.
AO3 LINK
CHAPTER TWO: fires find a home in me
PRESENT
Chiyori crouches down behind a tree outside one of the cityâs stadiums, where the lights are as bright as can be in the Borderlands, beckoning players from all over Tokyo to join. There are signs nearby to lead people into the venue. Having been a citizen for all her life and a child of two of the most ruthless Game Masters, Chiyori knows the usual haunts; where to avoid and where to flock.
As much as she likes to consider herself an independent woman (and she very much is a woman now, thank you very much!), she prefers being surrounded by people whether familiar or not. Those earlier years spent locked inside a library with only books and dust as friends truly did wonders for her touch starvation. Craving companionship, but knowing death could pry them away from her bloody fingers in a blink of an eye. Her eternal dilemma.
And that night, nearly a decade ago, a decade of murder and sin, death stole the ones who brought her to life. She who guided the fatesâ scissors, who lured her parents into a game they had a hand in orchestrating.
Thus began her undoing.
She could never really recall the whole night, most of her memories were of after. Bits and pieces would flash to her mind at the most inopportune moments (resulting in many near-death experiences), and to this day she cannot say what events led to the single clear picture in her mind. Of blood, gushing like a geyser from her fatherâs headless neck; of his wide-eyed head with a mouth frozen in a silent scream, rolling to a still beneath the shaking legs of her mother as her pulsing entrails out of her with a katana stuck to her spine, like a sick version of a magicianâs show but only nearly succeeding.
Countless deaths had she witnessed in her childhood alone, usually by the lasers that come to claim players with zero days left as she watched through her library windows while nibbling on biscuits. Yet, this was the one that had her hurling her guts, almost in tandem with her motherâs dripping entrails.
Chiyori couldnât tell you when was the first time she witnessed death, but she remembered the first time her hands took away someoneâs life.
In a bout of adrenaline, and because the rules of the game permitted her to do so (each weapon can only be used once by each player, to up the ante), Chiyori wrenched the katana her motherâs killer used and drove it straight to his heart.
Battle Royale Kill Count.
Pretty straightforward name. Like Battle Royale, except only the one with the most kills survived. It was unlike the fiction novels she had read in her little library home, not like The Hunger Games where it only mattered who survived until the end even if you barely killed anyone, or like The Lord of the Flies where an adult appears to save you in the end.
At first, no one wanted to harm her. A child in the Borderlands? Unheard of. But as the game went on, the timer ticking down, the number of players dwindling, she knew they would come for her.
So she had to come for them first.
The katana was of no use to her any longer, so she had left it on her parentsâ killerâs chest as he laid facing the ceiling, like a crude cross marker for her two parents.
She spent half of the time left looking around for stray weapons, but most of what she found were close-range types. She didnât want to risk revealing herself to the others, so she persisted in looking around.
In one of the many rooms there, she found tucked into the corner behind a pile of boxes a large jug of gasoline. Relief flooded through her body as she scrambled for it. It was perfect! She only needed to spread the gasoline around, and it would only take one match for the whole building to burn.
Speaking of matches⊠She smiled horrifically, her face a mess of tears and snot with blood dripping down her nose, finding a little box with a few matchsticks amidst the junk.
Chiyori ran on the tips of her toes to avoid attention, hefting the jug and pouring it everywhere she could. All of a sudden, someone violently pulled at her ponytail. The gasoline sloshed over her front and clung to her clothes as the jug crashed to the floor.
She screamed as she was dragged back by a man with desperate eyes. He held a small knife, which trembled in his hands. The man struggled to straddle her as she kicked frantically, keeping eye contact with her while seeming to be in an internal war with himself. He raised the knife up high with both hands, the dull glint of it invoking her to grasp for something, anything to defend herself with. Her fingers latched on a broken piece of wood, with splinters and nails at the other end.
With a guttural yell, akin to the sound of pigs being slaughtered, the man drops his knife to try and dislodge the wood from the side of his head. It squelched in his efforts, blood and bits of skin coating the nails. While he was distracted, she grabbed the knife and plunged it into his right eye and twisted.
Chiyori knew something was wrong with her when she relished in his pain.
He dropped to the ground as she pushed him off, taking the jug and what amount of gasoline it had left to dump it all over his writhing body. She grabbed the matchbox from her pockets. She took one stick and struck it to light.
For a moment, she stood there, transfixed in the tiny flame.
Then, she dropped it.
The man lit up in a manner of seconds, his screams reaching a crescendo as the flames enveloped him.
Vicious thoughts ran through her mind. Vengeful. Mournful.
Hysteria replaced them when the flames licked at her clothes and ignited her as well.
She tried to roll around, but the room was quickly filling up with smoke and grew with even more flames. Chiyori ran outside, flailing her arms to no avail as it only seemed to fan the fire. Finding a clear patch of floor, she dropped and rolled for what seemed like hours of agony but was probably only a few minutes until the fire was completely smothered.
Third degree burns covered her arms, part of her abdomen, and her left thigh. The clothes stuck to her skin. The smell of barbecued pork along with smoke made her dizzy.
She stood up with a pained cry and limped as fast as she could to the entrance of the game venue. From different rooms, she could hear the panic of the remaining players as they fought against the fire.
The screen that dictates the amount of kills per player chimed with each death, the only number to increase was under her name, as she lit the fire that killed them. Subsequently, the number of remaining players were slowly counting down. She kept her gaze locked onto that number. The only way the game would end was when everyone else died.
Smoke started seeping into her nostrils again. She knew it was only a matter of time until the flames were upon her once more.
The phone she grabbed at the beginning chimed in one of her cargo shortsâ pockets. When she fishes it out, the screen lit up with the following message:
ă đ¶ đ° đŒ đŽ ă
â€ăâ€ăâ€ăâ€ăâ€
â€ăâ€ăâ€ăâ€ăâ€
đ đ  đ đ đ đ  đ đ đ đ đ đ  đ đ đ  đ đ đ đ  đ đ đ đ đ đ đ đ đ Â
đ đ đ đ Â đ Â đ đ đ - đ đ đ Â đ đ đ đ
The irony of her father, the King of Spades, dying at a Ten of Spades game to protect her and her mother⊠Were it not for Chiyori, both of her parents would still be here right now. Maybe they wouldâve trained her in preparation for the games that she wanted to play since she was a child.
But now?
She wondered why she ever wanted to play.
After that game, she immediately sought help from her parentsâ fellow game masters, but after her wounds were cleaned and patched she holed up in her library home with the intent to let her visa run out by itself.
Only it didnât. Not really.
She thought she lost her sense of time when the number stayed at zero for nearly a week, only to realize that the Borderlands didnât want its single native citizen out of its clutches. Whichever god that rules this sinful place, if there ever is one, plays with her life almost daily with its cruel tribulations, but condemns her efforts to die outside of the games. It is almost as if they want her to play in order to die.
Chiyori isnât particularly religious, but she has often read books about religion and philosophy. When one has questions, one seeks answers, but none of the books in any library in Tokyo have ever explained the nature and laws of this place.
With the games not being necessary to her life and being the only way to die, she neednât participate. And for a while, she didnât want to either.
Slowly, she began to open up to her parentsâ friends, but the Borderlands only took them one by one as each cycle passed until she didnât have anyone left but herself and her books. But even books couldnât give her the happiness it gave when she was younger. By that time, she was thirteen, still a child but now numb to the death that surrounded her. She started participating in a few games a year, to a few games a month, now nearly everyday when she realized that those deadly games were the only things that made her feel alive anymore.
Sure, she meets friends along the way, but they only die in the end. Sometimes by her hand. Such is life in the Borderlands. The sooner you accept that, the better youâll survive.
When a good amount of people have arrived at the game venue, she stands from her hiding place and nonchalantly walks over to join them, hands tucked into her denim jacket, the leathery scar on her left thigh visible as she only wore cycling shorts.
The clunk of her combat boots prompts several of them to glance at her entrance. She coolly raises an eyebrow and runs her eyes over everybody, reading them almost like her beloved books.
Chiyori runs a finger along the table of phones, choosing one with a sleek black case. After it scans her face, she saunters to a wall and leans back to continue her survey of the other players.
âHey, are you new here?â A guy wearing a long-sleeved neon green shirt asks her. Thereâs a girl with a thankfully less bright top holding his hand. Both of them are looking at Chiyori worriedly.
She gazes distastefully at his shirt. With a scoff, she asks, âWhat makes you say that?â
âIf I may, miss,â the girl interjects, âYou look like you donât realize how dangerous these things can get⊠We only wish to help educate you.â
Their familiarity with each other suggests that they knew each other before ending up at the borderlands. Both of them had dyed hair, the guy sporting blond tips while the girl had long pink hair. The fact that the girl had no roots showing tells Chiyori that they mustâve only been in the Borderlands for less than three weeks.
No, Chiyori decides after a peek of inked flesh on the guyâs bicep, about as big as the size of her palm. It still has a cling film wrapped around it, so it couldnât have been more than three to five days.
The girl knew the games were dangerous, so they played at least one, not very hard if theyâre already at another. This is probably their second or third game. Most likely the second.
In spite of herself, Chiyori smiles at them. They might end up betraying her later when the game starts, but she appreciates their concern. Not that she needed it.
âThanks,â she says. âBut I think I can manage. You guys worry about yourselves, you havenât experienced real danger yet.â
The couple looks at her, at each other, then they shrug as if to say âSuit yourself.â
Chiyoriâs gaze drops to their locked hands as they leave to go back to their corner. A twinge of longing cuts through her.
She thinks the game should start any minute now when a guy with black hair almost to his shoulders and a few face piercings walks in hesitantly, looking around in confusion as he taps his hand against an ear. Her eyebrows go up as she checks him out appreciatively.
âHeâs new,â she remarks quietly to the couple. âYou guys have been here only about a few days, I can tell.â
The girl whispers, âHowâd you know?â
âYou guys are pretty obvious, as is that guy. How?â Chiyori nods to the guy with piercings. âLook at his hands. Heâs patting his pockets, and from the shape of it itâs a phone. Where he came from, it was loud, so heâs here to watch a game but when he entered the noise was gone. So heâs new new.â
Chiyori can tell that although theyâre impressed, theyâre unnerved by her. As most people are. So she pushes off the wall and saunters towards the guy who is now fiddling with his phone, trying to turn it on.
The way he hunches his shoulders tells her he is a private person, so she stops a respectable distance from him. âHey.â
He lifts his head up to look at her, eyebrows furrowed. âWhat?â His voice snaps, almost defensively.
She doesnât smile at him, thinking he seemed the type of person to think it was condescending. Instead, she points with her thumb to the table where only a few more cellphones were available. âYour phone is busted. Take one of those.â
He sneered at her and says, âFuck off.â
Rolling her eyes, she says, âWeâre not in Kansas anymore, Toto. Take a phone or youâre disqualified and trust me, you donât want to be disqualified.â
He still makes no move to the table, so she takes his busted phone with a quick movement and throws it to the entrance of the stadium. The other players watch them, not wanting to intervene.
âYou bitch, whatâ?!â His enraged shout is cut off when a red laser beams down from the ceiling and puts a hole into the phone. âWhat the fuck?!â
Chiyori locks her eyes with his, smirking at the contempt that he displays for her. âYou came here to watch a game, did you? Which teams are playing? Doesnât matter. Youâre not here to watch. Youâre here to play.â She shoves a new phone in his hands. âHumor me, would you?â
With a glare, he turns on the phone. Almost as soon as his face is done scanning, everybodyâs phones start chiming.
âLet the games begin,â Chiyori says, her excitement evident.
đ đ đ Â đ đ đ đ Â đ đ đ đ Â đ đ đ Â đ đ đ đ đ đ đ đ
đ đ đ đ : Â đ đ đ Â đ đ đ đ đ Â đ đ đ đ
đ đ đ đ đ đ đ đ đ đ : Â đ đ đ Â đ đ Â đ đ đ đ đ đ
When the difficulty level is announced, almost everyone starts cussing or panicking, apart from Chiyori and the guy with piercings.
She is momentarily breathless as memories of another Ten of Spades game come to her, but she shoves them at the back of her mind and turns her attention to the guy. Hostile he may be, something in her wants to help him. âThis is the last time Iâm gonna warn you. Itâs kill or be killed, alright?â
He looks at her almost like a puppy, the angry facade he keeps up down for a moment.
âWelcome to the Borderlands,â she tells him.
They enter through another entrance to go into the arena itself. She hears the guy mutter in shock when he sees the arena. Like the rest of the Borderlands, the fauna is overgrown intermixed with other weeds and plants, except for a rectangular patch of land in the center where it was just plain dirt. Ostensibly 200 meters wide.
At the end closest to the entrance they came through is a long table full of weapons ranging from bows and arrows to javelins to throwing daggers. No guns. There are three people wearing grotesque halloween masks and nondescript clothes behind the table, waiting patiently for the game to start with hands clasped.
There were 21 participants in total. You know what they say: the more, the deadlier.
The guy in neon moved to grab a weapon off the table, but one of the dealers stopped him from doing so by brandishing a machete to his face. âShit!â He squeaks. âWatch where youâre pointing that thing!â
The dealer with the machete brings one finger up to the lips of his mask, as if to sush him, then wags the finger like scolding a child. The other dealers gesture for them to wait for the rules.
Their phones chime once again. âRule: Players must race through 200 meters to get to the other side. Condition: Finish the race within ten minutes.â
Chiyori smiles grimly, realizing what the weapons were for. She drops her denim jacket to the floor, revealing the burns on her arms, and readies herself.
âStart.â
She sprints ahead of everyone else, zigzagging and changing direction at random intervals. Screams start to rise. Behind her, the familiar squelch of someone being stabbed urges her to run faster. Someone manages to run even faster than her, even with her head start, but who said the game is about how quick you can finish the race?
A javelin goes through the head of the player.
Not even sparing them a glance, she jumps over the body - because thatâs all the player is anymore, a body - and nearly collides with the guy from before. He looks like he wants her to die, but contradicts himself when he pushes her away from a flying arrow.
She barely gasps out a whisper of gratitude before they both continue their run. The timer loudly ticks down from the stadiumâs screens.
They are only a few meters away from the finish line when she notices a small movement from behind the tall grass at the other end. She grabs the guyâs arm and pulls him while still keeping them in motion, albeit going back in the opposite direction.
âWhat are you doing?! The finish lineâs right there!â He growls.
âLook again,â she snaps at him. âSomeoneâs waiting for us.â
He glances back and confirms it for himself. âWhat the fuck kind of dystopian shit is going on here?â
âThese games are never simple,â she says.
By now, there were only about half of them still alive. A few have run past the two of them already, but Chiyori knew they would regret not thinking twice. She runs to a body that has a throwing axe deep into the side of her neck.
A glance at the starting line lets her know that the masked people only have a few weapons left to throw at them, but she still remains cautious in her running patterns as she runs to a few more bodies to collect more light throwing weapons. The guy follows her example, a bloody machete in hand.
They run back to the finish line, where a few of the others have begun to realize that there was one more masked person to torment them. Their weapon of choice? An actual roaring chainsaw.
âI should have stayed home!â The guy with piercings groans.
âWouldâve been the better choice,â she agrees.
The masked person slashed their chainsaw with reckless abandon at whoever dared to come close. One of the players was using someoneâs lifeless body as a shield to get closer. Another player runs to the side of the race track, but a laser immediately comes for them.
Chiyori glances at the guy with piercings, locking eyes with him, darts her eyes to the masked person then back at him. He nods.
Holding her breath, she assumes a throwing stance. She brings the axe behind her head, then extends her arm forward while at the same time letting go of the weapon while keeping her wrist and elbow firm. It sinks into the masked personâs jugular.
Trusting that the guy would take over, she whips back to face the starting line and grabs the small throwing daggers she collected in each hand. Just in time to dodge a masked personâs forward slash. She drops to the floor and rolls over, kicking them on the head to dizzy them. She jumps on their back and uses another dagger to cut their throat open.
With her legs wrapped around their torso, she rolls both of them over just as several arrows lodge onto the masked personâs chest. Heart pounding at the close call, Chiyori throws her remaining daggers and knives in rapid succession towards where the arrows came from, hoping to buy time.
She crawls to the nearest body, who is rendered nearly headless by a curved blade. She pulls it out, spraying even more blood all over herself and the floor. When she looks up, she finds a masked person struggling to remove a knife embedded into their eye socket. Stopping for a second to marvel at her blind but successful aim, she puts them out of their misery with a swing of the blade.
Chiyori looks around for the third masked person, finding them grappling with another player. She turns her gaze to the guy with piercings, who seems to have successfully dispatched his opponent. He has his hands cupped around his mouth, shouting at her, but she is too far away to hear him clearly.
â... over here!â
âWhat?!â She screams.
The guy runs a hand through his hair in frustration, then points furiously at the stadium screens. She follows the direction of his finger, to find that there is only less than a minute left for her to cross about 100 meters to the finish line.
With no time to waste, she tightens her grip on the handle of the curved blade and runs for her life.
Chiyori is only a few feet away when a javelin twirls through the air and nicks her calf. She nearly drops at the pain, but perseveres and limps as fast as she can.
The guy with piercings picks up his opponentâs chainsaw and turns it on with a loud roar.
He sprints for the masked person making their way to Chiyori and slices them in half jaggedly.
With only twenty seconds left on the clock, he barks for the two other players in the finish line to help him drag Chiyori to safety, but only one actually does.
They cross the finish line with two seconds to spare.
They all pant in exhaustion, bodies slick with blood. Blood from the masked people, from the other players, from them. Chiyori canât wait to go home and wash it all off, maybe take a week off from playing the games.
ă đ¶ đ° đŒ đŽ ă
â€ăâ€ăâ€ăâ€ăâ€
â€ăâ€ăâ€ăâ€ăâ€
đ đ  đ đ đ đ  đ đ đ đ đ đ  đ đ đ  đ đ đ đ  đ đ đ đ đ đ đ đ đ Â
đ đ đ đ Â đ Â đ đ đ - đ đ đ Â đ đ đ đ
She struggles to stand, waving off any help offered to her.
Hand still gripping on the curved blade, she uses it to cut away at the long grass until she finds a small table with a single Ten of Spades card on it. Despite not having the need for it, she swipes it and hides it in her bra.
Chiyori limps back to where the others are. The guy with piercings has blood dripping down his nose, and a cut somewhere on his trunk causing the shirt he has on to cling to his form.
âWelcome to the Borderlands,â she repeats with a smile, referring to before the game started. âIâm Kuroba Chiyori. Whatâs your name?â
Warily, he considers the hand she offers for him to shake. He glances at her face, at her horrific smile, teeth stained with blood. He takes her small hand into his much larger one and slowly shakes it, feeling vaguely like he is making a deal with the devil.
authorâs note:Â heyy guys! so this chapter is mostly about chiyori's parents and how they came to the borderlands. like the summary says, she was born in the borderlands so she's like a native of this "country" - i wanted to explore such a concept. the next chapter will be more chiyori-centric. let me know what you guys think! (also the tech from her parents' era are a bit diff so instead of smartphones and such, i had to change it a little)
summary: Kuroba Chiyori may be born in the Borderlands, but no way in hell does she want to die in it.
AO3 LINK
20 YEARS AGO ; SEASIDE PARADISE RESORT
 I just want to stay like this forever, without the boring routine of life.
The sun begins its slow descent towards the horizon, painting the sky in oranges and pinks and purples. Children screaming in delight, splashing each other with pool water. Couples lathering each other up with sunscreen. Lifeguards diligently looking over everyone.
All her life, everyone praises her wit and loads her with expectations. So, so many expectations that weigh heavily on her shoulders.
Expectations that she wants to meet.
But you canât exactly please everyone, can you? Or maybe you can, but at the expense of your health.
Being with Kuroba Asuma is a breath of fresh air. He never expects anything too much from her, content with what she has and who she is. She first met him at a crime scene, which isnât exactly how most love stories go but she didnât mind because after he took her witness statement he stopped by at the library everyday for lunch. He courted her for almost a year before he asked - quite nervously, might I add - if she could be his girlfriend.
(Of course she said yes. In fact, what she said was: âWasnât I already your girlfriend?â)
Fast forward through the happiest years of her life and now sheâs here at the Seaside Paradise Resort, a thoughtful surprise from Asuma. Itâs the week of their first wedding anniversary, can you believe that? How time flies when youâre with the person you love.
A smile forms on Kuroba Kanameâs face as her husband helps her rise from the pool. Her hand automatically rests on her bulging stomach while Asuma wraps a towel around her.
Like her, he canât help but caress her stomach, knowing that in just about a month there would be a new addition to their little family. A daughterâŠ
âLetâs get you dried off now, dear.â He brushes off the water droplets on her face, sneaking in a quick kiss.
Kaname presses her fingers together, batting her eyelashes. He immediately catches on to what she wants and rolls his eyes. âWhatâs the little one craving for now?â
âCongee, some mango, aaand,â she hums for a second, âa chicken sandwich with lots of mayo!â
Asuma sighs resignedly. âIâll order room service while you wash off.â
They walk into the elevator - or in Kanameâs case, she waddles - and press the button for the third floor. The elevator lifts up smoothly, but Kaname sways in her spot. âWoah!â She presses a hand to her head. âI feel a bit li-lighâum, what was that word?â
âLight-headed?â Asuma asks softly, putting one of his wifeâs arms over his shoulder so that he could carry her weight lest she fall down and potentially harm the baby. âI think youâve had enough fun for today.â
The elevator dings open and they step out, Asuma nearly bumping into a man who seems almost like heâs sleepwalking. Kaname keeps her gaze on him out of curiosity even as her husband leads them to their room.
âDoesnât that guy seem strange to you?â
Asuma throws a nonchalant glance over his shoulder. He shrugs and unlocks their room. âProbably had too much to drink. It is Paradise, after all.â Wagging his eyebrows as he says that last sentence, he gathers a giggling Kaname into his arms and closes the door behind them.
âI wish we can stay here forever,â Kaname says.
âMe too, dear.â Asuma kisses her forehead softly. âNow, let me prepare a bath for yââ
Darkness.
Drenched in heavy, silent darkness.
Silence except for the thudding of their heart, their heavy breathing as they try to understand what the hell is going on.Â
âD-dear, whatâs going on?â Kaname trembles against him. He could see the whites of her eyes even in the dim room, eyes searching for an answer.
Asuma runs to the window and peeks behind the curtains. He freezes, then pulls them apart completely. Kaname trails after him in confusion, asking again, âWhatâs happening?â
âGone,â Asuma whispers.
âWhat?!â Kaname gasps. âWh-ButâHow can that be?â
He turns to her with a serious look on his face, repeating, âEveryoneâs gone.â
Kanameâs brows crease in a mixture of worry and trepidation, biting her lip as she rubs her belly. âThatâs impossible. How can everybody disappear in a blink of an eye? Did we miss a fire alarm or something? An earthquake drill?â
âI donât think so.â Asume grabs his phone from the nightstand and flips it open. He presses the home button to turn it on, but the screen doesnât light up. âThatâs weird.â
Again, he presses it, this time longer.
The black screen stares at him, almost mockingly.
âI was just charging this,â he says to Kaname, scratching his head. âLet me see your phone.â
Kaname shakes her head. âItâs barely hot out. Letâs just put some clothes on and ask around. If we take too long, we might not be able to catch up to everyone.â
They dress up in a hurry, question after question popping up in their heads. (Asuma discretely takes out a gun from his bags as well as its holster.) They take the stairs when it seems evident that the electricity is out in the whole resort. Their trip is longer than it should have been, mainly due to Kanameâs state.
âYouâd think a resort would have backup generators,â Asuma mumbles to her. It didnât feel right to talk louder than a whisper, like someone may be watching them. The thought unsettles him.
Finally, they exit the resort building.
They are greeted by even more silence and darkness, with only the pale moon as their source of light.
Asuma pulls his wife close to him. âYou know, I pride myself in being completely unflappable at whatever the world throws at me, but this is a little too much. The only reason Iâm not freaking out right now is because youâre here with me and I donât want to seem like a wimp.â
This prompts a giggle out of Kaname. âMy goofy knight in shining cargo pants.â
âItâs so creepy,â she says after a beat. âDid we black out or something during an evacuation?â
âWeâre the picture of health, dear, I donât think weâd black out. Especially not at the same time.â
She nods. âYeah, youâre right. Letâs just walk until we see someone or something that could tell us what is going on.â
âDonât worry, babe.â Asuma flexes his biceps, shooting her a charming smile. âI didnât get a job at the police force because of my exceedingly handsome good looks, you know. Iâll protect you.â
Kaname rolls her eyes, placing a hand on his still-flexing bicep. âWhatever you say, dear.â
They continue walking in a vaguely uncomfortable silence further out of the resortâs grounds. It takes them almost an hour before something bright pops up in the distance.
âHey, thereâs some light over there!â
They quicken their feet, eager to get out of the darkness. What greets them is a LED TV inside an otherwise dark electronic store that saysâŠ
âIs this some kind of government experiment type of deal?â Asuma asks rhetorically.
The text on the screen changes.
đ đ đ đ  đ đ đ  đ đ Â
đ đ đ Â đ đ đ đ Â đ đ đ đ đ
âŹ
âShould we go? I mean, there might be people there?â She rubs her belly, as if to comfort her daughter even though it looks like sheâs the one who needs comforting.
He thinks for a moment, then nods. âWell, itâs not like thereâs anything else to do or anywhere else to go.â
Asuma leads the way, hand clasped tight on Kanameâs as they near what looks like a karaoke bar complete with a blinking GAME sign in neon pink and the background instrumentals of a pop song. When they cross the threshold, what feels like the sense of imminent danger falls over them. Inside is a small group of people, the majority of which glance at the husband and wife pair. All of their eyes trail down to Kanameâs protruding stomach. They give her looks that are a mixture of a grimace and a pitying look.
âAre we playing a singing game?â Kaname chirps into the awkward silence. Asuma now has his arm around her shoulder protectively. âIâm not a bad singer, but if weâre going based on scores Iâm definitely gonna fail.â
Silence.
âTough crowd,â Asuma remarks. He notices a small sign that says đ đ đ đ Â đ đ đ đ and below it what looks like a fingerprint scanner. Above those two is a TV screen. âAre we supposed to scan ourselves?â
âYes.â Surprisingly, one blank-faced man with sleeves rolled up to his elbow replies.
Asuma waits for an explanation, but the man doesnât say anything else. âOoookay, then.â He pulls Kaname closer as he presses his thumb to the biometric device.
đ đ đ đ đ đ Â đ đ đ đ Â đ Â đ đ đ đ đ đ
âPlease wait for the game to commence.â A robotic feminine voice says, the TV suddenly turning on. A timer appears on the screen. 00:59⊠58⊠57⊠âOne minute until registration closes. There are currently eleven participants.â
They wait another minute through the stifling silence, but no one else seems to come. Finally, the speakers emit a tone. âRegistration has closed. The game will now commence. Game: âSinging Contest.â Difficulty: Ace of Hearts.â At the announcement of the difficulty level, most of the group seems to sag in relief although some still seem tense. Kaname feels a bemused smile slide over her face. So it really is a singing game? And yet, everyone looks so serious.
âRule: Each player has thirty seconds of singing time. After each player, everyone else has to vote whether that person is a good singer or a bad singer. Condition: Guess the majority vote correctly within one minute.â
A door to one of the karaoke rooms creaks open.
Asuma and Kaname exchange a look as they follow everyone into the room. All this fuss for a simple singing game?
Someone, a young college student, clears her throat to gain the attention of everyone. âHow should we decide the order?â
âWhoever wants to go, goes,â replies a gruff voice. It comes from a man whose biceps are nearly as big as his head, with eyes that scrutinize every person in the room. Asuma doesnât feel as intimidated as he is probably expected to be because he knows that he has a trump card hidden under his jacket. He hopes he doesnât have to resort to using it.
Everyone stands there in silence for a moment, eyeing each other with suspicion and anxiety. Asuma can feel his patience beginning to wear thin, so he lets go of Kanameâs hand and grabs the microphone in the room. âIâll go,â he says, flipping through the songbook and inputting the numbers for the song he wants.
When the music starts up, Kaname cheers him on. Everyone else remains silent as he sings for the required thirty seconds, even incorporating silly dance moves that make the rest of the group look at him weirdly. When he finishes, the TV flashes again, text appearing on the screen as the voice dictates. âThe voting period has begun. Singer, next to the songbook is a notepad and two pens - take one piece of paper and one pen. You may place your guess inside or outside, but it is required for you to wait outside while the audience submits their votes. Audience, write down your vote and fold it. You may not discuss your vote, nor can you persuade others. Once everyone has voted within one minute, the singer can return to the room. The audience will one by one reveal their votes, and afterward the singer will reveal their guess.â
âFun.â Asuma tears out one page and takes a pen. It didnât matter whether he actually sang well, because no one in the room is obligated to write down their actual opinion. He sweeps a quick glance around the others, but he isnât a mind reader. What he can gather is that they are too solemn for what seems to be a trivial game, therefore there is more than meets the eye. There is also still the question of the city-wide blackout, as well as the disappearance of hundreds-maybe thousands-of people almost in a blink of an eye. So you canât blame him for feeling nervous as he writes down his guess.
He leaves the room, flashing a smile to his wife as he does so.
âWe only have one minute to vote, so letâs vote now,â Kaname says once the door shuts. One by one, they each tear out a piece of paper and write down their votes. When Kanameâs turn comes, she keeps a poker face on while tearing at the notepad.Â
She bends to write down âGOOD.â
Soon enough, the voting period has ended and Asuma returns to the room.
âAudience, you may now reveal your votes.â
Kaname feels her heart pounding as the votes are being said, her hand holding tightly onto Asumaâs. Itâs neck to neck. Tears gather at the corners of her eyes ( Why is she being so emotional? Itâs just a stupid game. Stupid hormones! ) when she is the last to reveal her vote. âGood,â she croaks out. But it doesnât matter.
Because there are 6 votes for BAD and 4 votes for GOOD.
Asuma pats her hand reassuringly as he holds up his paper, which says BAD. âLucky guess, huh?â
She feels the tension in her body leave and a slightly teary giggle erupts from her throat.Â
"I think I'll wait a while before my turn," she says.
The next two singers successfully guess correctly, and it's during the fourth round when something happens. The guy with muscles drops down like a sack of potatoes as a red laser comes for him, prompting shocked gasps all around.
Asuma immediately kneels down and takes his pulse, but⊠Nothing. "He's dead," he announces, but it looks like everyone except his wife already knew that. "Alright, can anybody tell us what the fuck is going on?!"Â
"He didn't follow the rules," says the man with rolled-up sleeves. He was the second singer. His glasses glint in the neon light as he points with his chin to the muscled guy's hand, which clutches two pieces of paper. "The rules stipulate that singers may only take one piece of paper."
Kaname gapes at this.
Almost as if setting the tone for the rest of the game, nearly every singer up next guesses incorrectly and meets the same fate as the muscled guy. Not before long, she is the only singer left. Aside from the first three singers, only one other person had guessed correctly, so four people would be voting.Â
She starts to move, but Asuma holds her back by the wrist and pulls her in to kiss her, hoping it wasnât their last. Not wanting to prolong it any more than it has to be, she quickly takes a piece of paper and brings it outside.Â
Asuma stares at his paper for a while before he scribbles down 'BAD.' He didn't know how he could cement her guess as the majority vote. Eyes burning, he kicks himself inwardly for not fulfilling his promise of protecting her.
Kaname returns with two clenched fists, a determined look in her eyes.Â
"Audience, you may now reveal your votes."Â
"Good.â
"Bad.â
"Good.â
What?
Asuma stares at his folded vote, then slowly opens it to show everyone. âBad.â
The young college girl, who survived, reels back in surprise. âItâs a tie? Does that mean whatever her answer is, sheâll live?â
âNo,â interrupts the man with rolled-up sleeves. âThe rules sayââ
âEnough with your fucking rules, man!â Asuma barks.
The other survivor is quiet. She almost looks like she could blend in the shadows with all the dark colors sheâs wearing as well as the shades she has on.
Asuma wraps his arm around Kaname to comfort her when her shoulders start shaking. âDonât cry, dear,â he says, but his assumption is wrong when she suddenly bursts out laughing.
Kaname holds up not one, but two pieces of paper.
GOOD.
BAD.
âI guessed correctly after all.â
 9 YEARS AGO ; TOKYO METROPOLITAN CENTRAL LIBRARY
Eleven-year-old Kuroba Chiyori strikes a match and a tiny little flame appears.
She guides this flame to a tall candle on her favorite bronze candle holder. In the Borderlands, electricity is reserved for the game arenas, which her parents forbid her from entering until she is at least 18 years of age. She hasnât been able to witness a single game yet, but she knows itâs only a matter of time before her parents let her.
Because if she doesnât know what to expect, how can she emerge a victor?
Chiyori shifts her focus back to the book on the table. Her mother, Kuroba Kaname, said that she used to work as a librarian in this very library, before she and Chiyoriâs father, Kuroba Asuma, became citizens of the Borderlands. Itâs her goal to read every single book in the library before she turns 18, but Kaname says that she needs to be realistic. Her mother is right, of course. The Tokyo Metropolitan Central Library has literally thousands of books, so how could Chiyori possibly read every book?
Nice to have a goal though, she muses as she flips to another page. Itâs not like thereâs anything else to do in here, not while her parents are gone probably watching over tonightâs games.
It wasnât always like this. When she was younger, her parents werenât the Queen of Diamonds or the King of Spades yet. But then two years ago, the face card representatives were finally killed off by that cycleâs players, and the positions were up for grabs. There were only a handful of citizens in the Borderlands, victors from certain cycles that chose to stay after conquering all the cards from Ace to King. Her parents decided just that almost eight years ago.
It mustnât have been easy for them, her mother especially. She was due to give birth to Chiyori in a mere two months when they became players. Perhaps this was a good thing though, as it gave them the drive to not die. For her. For Chiyori.
As far as Chiyori knows, sheâs the only person to have ever been born in the Borderlands. But there isnât really anyone to ask, or to give her answers.
Her first memory is of her father returning home, looking as if he took a quick swim in a pool of blood. Chiyoriâs fingers clutching at her motherâs clothes as she drank her milk, eyes wide as her father dropped down on one knee to ruffle her then-short hair.
Now that sheâs a bit older, her parents started leaving her alone at night, in this quiet library. These books are her only friends as she wasnât yet allowed to make her presence known to the players.
Sometimes there are game arenas close by and she watches through the windows as numbers of players enter and only a few come back out. None of the players she has seen are anywhere near her age.
Maybe thatâs why she wants to join the games when she turns 18. Loneliness.
The books sheâs read tell her of companionship, adventure, friendship⊠love. What interesting concepts. Would she ever experience such a thing?
She startles when the light from her candle burns out. Pouting, she places a bookmark on her book and closes it. Thatâs her last candle.
As if on cue, flashes of red catch her eye. Outside the window, lasers from the sky come down, and some people scream when they do.
Thereâs someone standing outside the library.
He looks young, almost as young as Chiyori. Maybe a highschooler? He locks eyes with Chiyori just as a laser comes for him.
She doesnât move as his body sprawls on the pavement.
Books tell her that she should feel sad when people die. How can she feel sad for this stranger? At least he has experienced life before death. At least heâs out there, while sheâs in here almost longing to exchange places with him.
⊠Well, she may be young, but so is the night.
Chiyori sprints to her closet, which is really a display cabinet that used to house heavy encyclopedias. She tugs off her pajamas in a rush and grabs a clean teal t-shirt along with cream-colored cargo shorts. Her feet are already clad in socks, so she just pushes them into her ratty sneakers.
Most games usually last until midnight, there are some that last until sunrise, and a select few can last for days. It usually depends on the difficulty of the game itself, not just the game levels.
The gamemasters and dealers use the Takebashi Station in Chiyoda City, Tokyo as their headquarters, so the distance from there to here would be⊠She visualizes a map of Tokyo for a moment. Around 8 to 9 kilometers! Itâs far enough to watch one game and get back before midnight.
She giggles when she realizes itâs almost like that Cinderella fairy tale she read as a child.
iâm planning on writing a niragi x oc longfic and posting it on ao3, ff.net, wattpad, and ofcourse tumblr. i was wondering if i should keep it as an oc when i post here, or should i change it to y/n?
Y'all know that it's not because we write and read Niragi stuff that we condone the things he did, right?? Like, y'all are aware that these are all fictional characters, right?? I don't want to be raped/murdered or want it to happen to other people, right?? Niragi is absolutely, 100% a horrible person. But please shut the fuck up and let us enjoy things.
Iâm going to go on a little rant here because I am pissed, and I am tired of seeing these kind of posts every so often.Â
I am not a Niragi stan, heâs not even my top three favourite characters. But I am absolutely livid to see some people occasionally popping up on the tag calling fans âsickâ, âbatshit crazyâ, or saying thereâs something wrong with them for liking Niragi.Â
We all watched the same show. We all saw the same character. We all know what kind of person Niragi is. We donât need you to tell us that he is a r*pist, m*derer, whatnot. WE FUCKING KNOW.Â
NO ONE is parading around asking Niragi to r*pe them. NO ONE is parading around asking Niragi to r*pe someone else. NO ONE is saying âWOW! Niragi is so hot because he fucking r*pes people and I like thatâ. NO FUCKING ONE IS CELEBRATING THE FACT THAT HE IS A R*PIST. WE ALL FUCKING KNOW HE IS A PIECE OF SHIT HUMAN.Â
But do you also know what else? HE IS FICTIONAL.
Shitty people exist in real life, shitty people can exist too in fictional life.
People like Niragi because the actor who portrays him is fucking hot. Look Sakurada Dori up. If someone in the tag is thirsting after Niragi, it costs you zero dollars and zero cents to let someone enjoy something they like. If they thirst after him because they support his actions, then you can fucking go after them because I will be throwing hands myself.
And have you even read the imagines and fanfics people put out? I bet not. I bet you saw Niragiâs name and thought, âFucking weirdos liking a r*pistâ. BECAUSE NONE OF THOSE HAVE R*PE AS A POSITIVE THEME. Why you gotta come on here and shit on everyone else?Â
Some aspiring writers/artists could see your post shitting on them and think, âWell, Iâm never going to write/draw nowâ. Iâve been one of those people before, I went through people shitting on me before, and I gave up on my passion because of that.Â
âOh but thatâs not my intentions. I just want to teach people moralsâ. Sometimes your words have more power than you think. And trust me when I say, ABSOLUTELY NO FUCKING ONE IN THIS FANDOM CONDONES WHAT NIRAGI DID. NO FUCKING ONE.Â
Also, when you post and call out people for being shitty because they like a character, maybe donât turn your replies off? Many of these posts do and when you do, I just instantly think youâre posting to make yourself look morally superior to everyone else and youâre not here for a civilised discussion.Â
To end my rant, as a kind reminder/advice, there are extensions created just for Tumblr, or even your browser, to blacklist a word or phrase. If you do not wish to see Niragi contents, then blacklist it. Literally, that easy. Youâre happy, everyone else is happy.Â
Warnings: violence, blood, toxic relationship, fucked up individuals
A/N: Requested by @romance-geekâ. Idk if I managed to make it the way you asked, idek what this is honestly, but I hope you enjoy anyway! đ€ There will be part two, probably even a part three when itâs later in their relationship.
Also why did writing this make me thirsty for Mira?
It would hardly be an overstatement to say that the whole Beach was buzzing with nervous energy. The executives and Hatter himself were all excited and the other inhabitants of the used-to-be hotel sensed this and it reflected in their own mood. The reason behind all this craze was simple, yet that only made the ones in charge more intrigued.Â
It was a newcomer.
Now, that in itself is nothing new. New faces arrive at the Beach every other day, after all. Some of them are even brought in by the leaders - much like this one. During the relatively long history of the Beach, every executive brought in at least one person who they thought would be beneficial for Beachâs cause. All except for one - that was until today.
