If your dialog feels flat, rewrite the scene pretending the characters cannot at any cost say exactly what they mean. No one says “I’m mad” but they can say it in 100 other ways.
Wrote a chapter but you dislike it? Rewrite it again from memory. That way you’re only remembering the main parts and can fill in extra details. My teacher who was a playwright literally writes every single script twice because of this.
Don’t overuse metaphors, or they lose their potency. Limit yourself.
Before you write your novel, write a page of anything from your characters POV so you can get their voice right. Do this for every main character introduced.
This is legit good writing advice, especially the first bullet point! In playwriting class we did a bit where every bit of dialogue had to be an accusatory question and it was glorious.
So after I made my last AO3 work skin, insanewordcount and I were discussing the different possibilities of implementing more visual elements in fanfiction without resorting to static images. So consider this a start of a series I guess? The following tutorial will show to make Post-It sticky notes without having to use images. While knowledge of CSS is nice, I don’t believe it’s necessary because I will explain each aspect of the coding and how to tweak it your benefit.
Tags: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Whumptober 2022, Twincest, Sibling Incest, Sister/Sister Incest, Blood and Gore, Snuff, Masturbation, Sexual Tension, Betrayal, Deception, Non-Graphic Smut, Disguise, Impersonation, Spoilers
Summary: Mukuro Ikusaba is all too excited to finally play the part of the person she cherishes most.
Read on: AO3 | Tumblr (under the cut)
A/N: This won’t really make a whole lot of sense unless you know what’s revealed at the end of the game. Warning for crazy spoilers for the first game!
This is day three for Whumptober.
The prompt was:
No. 3 A HAIR’S BREADTH FROM DEATH
Gun to Temple | “Say goodbye.” | Impaled
Upon seeing the word impaled, the first thing I thought about was twincest Mukuro… : )
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Mukuro Ikusaba felt giddy beneath the embrace of her sister's clothes. She could still remember the feeling of Junko Enoshima, the sister she looked upon fondly despite her sick perversion—maybe even because of her corrupt inner nature—as she’d dressed Mukuro, how devious she looked adjusting each button across Mukuro’s borrowed blouse. With admiration and affection, Mukuro embodied all that Junko was, stepping into her form with enthusiasm, eager for her sister to become the excited voyeur to such a heartfelt performance.
She argued with Monokuma, the avatar and headmaster at the helm of her fraternal twin sister's killing game. Mukuro was very well-behaved, but only for Junko, submitting only under her orders. She followed the steps of their plans carefully, masterfully, the tactician in her eager to surface from a life of training as the Ultimate Soldier. Seeing the culmination of one of the ultimate plans of The Despair Sisters sent her mind whirling as it was brought to fruition. It was so easy to act like a klutz or like a stupid bimbo when Mukuro felt so horny, her mind clouded with gruesome thoughts of how she and her twin might share a corpse, or how they might push each individual murder into motion. She felt herself wet against her sister's used lacy panties, the ones that Junko had made Mukuro watch her cum in before she forced them up and over Mukuro’s lean, muscled legs. Junko sent her out this morning like that, with her cum still hot and wet against Mukuro, knowing how crazy it would make her pet dog.
Mukuro had caused the commotion in the gymnasium that Junko had explained was necessary the night before. Mukuro kicked up a huge fuss. Merely speaking with the voice Mukuro used to play the role of Junko Enoshima felt electric as it poured from her lips. Mukuro felt her mind sting, becoming thoughtless and empty of all but the feeling of Junko’s clothes across her body, held so close. She could still smell Junko over her, in her hair—her body smelled impossibly similar to her beloved Junko. Mukuro looked at the way her red nails glinted under the pressure of the thick fluorescent lighting, smiling to herself at how erotic her hands looked since they had been so carefully transformed into her twin's.
I’m becoming her, Mukuro thought, feeling herself spiral into an abyss of pleasure tainted with the darkness of degenerate despair. I’ve truly become one with Junko Enoshima.
Monokuma guffawed at her threats about how this ‘Junko Enoshima’ had no interest in taking any part in this killing game. The girl behind this stuffed animatronic knew better, could see just how much Mukuro relished getting to play such an important role. He argued with her, threatening to discipline her.
Now came the final act in this important performance. Mukuro kicked Monokuma down to the floor just as she’d been told. Junko had explained to her in great detail what would happen next. Monokuma would chastise her, slap her a little or punish her by locking her in confinement until the end of the day. It would send quite the message to the other students to not do the same. Mukuro was looking forward to her isolation—she couldn’t wait to finally masturbate until she couldn’t possibly cum anymore. It felt like she’d been waiting forever .
“Violence against Headmaster Monokuma is not allowed. You’ve violated a school regulation…” Mukuro could hear her twin sister’s voice as clear as day behind Monokuma’s. Before she could enjoy the anticipation of what was about to come next, Monokuma began to shift totally off of their rehearsed script. “I invoke the mighty summon spell! Help! To me, godly spear Gungnir!”
It was completely in her sister’s sense of humor. Mukuro’s—no, this ‘Junko Enoshima’s’—eyes widened in surprise. As discreetly as she could, she made a questioning face at Monokuma, into the tiny cameras that fed directly to where Junko was staked out, undoubtedly getting herself off to her sister's demonstration of horror.
A strange sound rang out from the ceiling, like clattering metal. Mukuro looked up, searching from behind her cloudy blue-eyed contacts. Her heart pounded in her chest. This wasn’t part of the plan. Her stomach felt sick, twisting in knots. This wasn’t at all part of the plan.
Panic set in as something unfolded above them, as though it were unlocking at Monokuma’s command. It happened in seconds, as fast as lightning, but Mukuro felt the stress and anxiety draw the moments out. They were so painfully slow, blazing before her in their journey towards their sick climax.
Thick, phallic spears hailed down, crashing towards the exact place Mukuro stood—where she’d been instructed to stand. Mukuro stared in disbelief and terror at the way they shone, their threatening points gleaming as they soared on their hungry descent. There was no time to run; in the instant her eyes could focus upon them, they were already determined, destined in their path to penetrate her flesh.
Junko’s betrayal happened in the most drawn out way possible, each spear was timed so that it would meet with Mukuro’s body one at a time. Mukuro groaned in agony as she heard the first tip come shrieking down above her head, rushing to plunge into her stomach. It tore her open, shredding her organs instantly. The pain was so brutal it sent bile and blood shooting out of Mukuro’s carefully glossed lips. Mukuro’s eyes were wide in her skull, the shock pounding through her in a confusing emotion, an indescribable sensation. Her shaking hands reached for where the spear had raped her body so brutally, but all she could do was weakly clasp her hands around it, the bite of the cold metal her stark reminder that this was real. She felt all of the color drain from her face.
“H-huh?” She gasped pathetically.
Her twin sister, the woman she’d worshiped and obeyed with bated breath, was murdering her in cold blood. Monokuma—the stand-in for her dear sister—howled with laughter.
She watched her blood, the blood that spattered out when the first blade collapsed, as it soaked into the faux fur of Monokuma’s plush body. Mukuro resented that; if her sister had to kill her, she should have at least have had the decency to do it herself. Mukuro howled in the unhinged rage that one can only feel at the brink of death.
The second blade connected, soaring into the opposite end of her lower stomach. It pierced her into the floor where she stood, completely impaled. Less blood erupted from her beaten body this time. Gore spewed from her mouth in thick, almost solid globs.
Now the third came. It felt like it was happening faster. Mukuro could hardly hold the strength to stare into Monokuma’s beady, camera eyes.
The fourth. The rest of her classmates shrieked with panic and dread, but none could help her now. She was completely shredded. It was an incredible miracle that the first spear hadn’t instantly killed her.
The fifth and sixth landed in unison. She stopped quivering, her body like a broken punching bag, no longer resisting the penetration.
Tags: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Hikari | Dawn and Shou | Akari are the Same Person, Horror, Torture, Whump, Violence, Sadism, Confinement, Conditioning, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Alternate Universe - Summer Camp, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Disturbing Themes, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Death Threats, Humiliation, Crying
Summary: Volo, a paid staff member at a sleepaway summer camp, has a very special way of handling Hikari when she breaks the rules.
Read on: AO3 | Tumblr (under the cut)
A/N: Friendly reminder to please read the tags. Seriously.
For Whumptober 2022: Day 2 (Nowhere To Run). Prompts fulfilled: Cornered, Caged and Confrontation.
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Hikari hated being here.
She started out into the sea of bodies, watching as they curved and swayed like one fluid, nocturnal creature, a rippling appendage as large as the sea, sharing one body, one mind. The heavy music drummed through Hikari’s body, the bass humming through her bones. It was hard to collect her thoughts here; the hysteria of the collective hive mind was almost irresistible, the music calling to give in and let go. The memory deep within the body sang in the same rhythm as the songs fresh from the DJ’s selection, muscle memories craving an ancient euphoria through the trials of dance and sweat.
Hikari, however, had control. Through shame and shame alone she had maintained her solid form, her individuality, discarded by the undulating tendrils of arms and legs that composed the beast itself, the dance floor. Her contrary presence went undetected; she made herself as small as her already frail body could manage, looking a mixture of pathetic and foolish where she’d perched, sat atop one of the tiny, mysteriously sticky plastic orange chairs that lined the gymnasium floor. Here, in the middle of nowhere, was a camp made up of many repurposed buildings; an old abandoned schoolhouse, a pool, a club, bunk bed lined cabins, even a complete dining hall. This was the place that Hikari would call home for the next month of her summer vacation.
Like most things at summer camp, Hikari didn’t have a say. Most campers were met with the same harsh reality once they’d arrived here at the start of their summer—‘you didn’t really think this was free , did you?’ All learned that there was a great debt they had to pay, which came at the cost of never being able to refuse.
The great dance was held tonight under the full moon, and all were invited—invited being a gentle warning, a polite form of threatening coercion typical of the way the camp staff bent reality. There was no way anyone, especially a mere camper like Hikari, would be allowed to stay in their cabins, or in the vast country that made up the campgrounds. All bodies were required to join in on these important celebrations—no exceptions. Everyone had worn their best clothes, groomed fresh and fancy for this very purpose by many hands, an affair that consumed the entire day. Hikari frowned, feeling the clothes she’d been given clinging to her damp, sweaty skin, nervous of how she’d damaged goods she could never dream of affording on her own. She’d have to deal with that later.
At the very least, Hikari wasn’t the only one being bashful, reluctant to be consumed into the hungry maw of the rave. A handful of her peers were scattered about the wide gymnasium, but Hikari was still terrified someone would notice her in particular, especially a staff member. The paid staff were given full creative control, free reign over the entire framework of the way that reality worked at camp—no one could challenge the world that they had designed for the summer. For some, the power went right to their heads, creating power-hungry sadists, always eager to chase the taboo thrills such an unhealthy, unchallenged system of authority provided.
However, the one who Hikari was most terrified of was Volo. Volo had something out for her in particular. Hikari couldn’t figure it out—in fact, it completely puzzled her. No matter how well-behaved she was, no matter how low she bent in submission to the paid staff, to the sick games under the summer sun, nothing could soothe Volo’s temper. There was something that alarmed Hikari in particular about the teenager's anger, something that Hikari was too young to recognize, an emotion and a desire that lurked behind each interaction, each heated exchange, every severe blow. When Hikari would finally break down and plead, or cry for Volo to stop, there was something sick that flashed in Volo’s wide eyes under the shade of his baseball cap. The corners of Volo’s lips would curl the precise moment that Hikari would buckle—just slightly, just enough to make Hikari’s stomach twist, just enough for her unconscious mind to recognize the micro expression before it faded back into the stoic control Volo commanded. It wasn’t simply the pain or humiliation of the experiences, but this strange sensation that radiated from Volo, something special that he only granted Hikari, that terrified her.
Thankfully, it seemed like Volo was nowhere to be found at this special festival. Hikari always paid special attention for signs of Volo’s presence. This newfound vigilance was ingrained into her psyche like a small animal learning to fear the claws of its hostile environment, desperate to survive the harshness of nature. Hikari’s arms quaked—from the thump of the music or the anxious pace of her rabbit-heart, she’d never know.
The sludge of human flesh blanketed her, shielded her where she sat. She focused on the laces of her freshly-scrubbed shiny shoes, occupying her weary hands with the work of tying the perfect knot, one that was the mirror reflection of its partner. Games like these were how she’d learned to spend the majority of time here at camp, a place where she’d had to learn the hard way how to force her mind by will alone to push the hands of the clock faster.
As she tied off the last loop, this time making it closest to her desired, even perfection, a prickling sensation crawled along her flesh, raking through her like steel teeth. Her breath quickened, bubbling in her throat, fists of dread choking around her fragile neck. She struggled to raise her head, to look through into the end of those spiraling, coiling bodies, to see what creature stared back at her, waiting for acknowledgement of their connection—their inevitable confrontation.
Hikari saw it. Volo, framed dead center, as if he were the focal point of a grand master's expert tableau composition. Without his cap, Hikari could see Volo's wild and severe eyes for all they were, disturbingly predatory. His irises hung too high, looking down on her from the way he held his chin, and his pupils were blown into impossibly wide, dark voids. A shock pulsed through Hikari, so startling and all-encompassing that she leapt from where she sat, stumbling over the metal legs of the chair. Her ankle had gotten caught in the instinctive scramble. A short shriek burst forth from Hikari, crushed from her lungs when Volo grinned, a cry lasting only as long as the initial shock of recognition itself. This fear struck in unison with the way her entire body froze in a vice-grip of searing tension. Hikari felt her body crack to the floor in every way she hadn’t expected, the fear disturbing the flow of her thoughts, her mind forgetting the difference between her right and left arms. Hikari’s cheek smacked against the floor, bouncing to the rhythm set by the fast percussion of the music.
She’d feel that later.
From the floor, watching the room swirl in strange colors around her, Hikari regained her senses. She pressed her palms to the floor, snaking her body out from where the plastic chair had sunk to cling to her clammy skin, sliding her way to her feet as though she would catch fire if she remained on the floor even a second longer. Without hesitating, without chancing a look back across her shoulder to see where Volo had vanished, Hikari ran.
She crashed into the mass of human forms, feeling them burst and break away the moment she applied any serious resistance. They bent like branches, curling around her, shoes squealing against the linoleum of the gymnasium floor, against glossy pools of sweat as she raced against her fate, against the laws of nature. Volo’s eyes haunted her, following her in the confines of her mind, staring into her. They were Hikari’s only warning that it was really different this time. Whether her eyes were wide open or tightly shut as she careened around the corners of skin, she couldn’t escape the terrifying image of Volo seared into her mind. Something was hysterical about it, like something had come undone in Volo’s mind, like he’d finally finished burning the last of his dull care, his compassion, and—ultimately—his humanity.
Hikari soared as fast as she could, breathless, colliding all at once into the northern door of the gymnasium, the closed mouth that led into the belly of the abandoned school itself. Her quivering hands found the metal handle, icy to the touch against the heat of her panic. She twisted it, pulling it open with a surge of strength delivered from the blessing of adrenaline. Hikari rushed inside, letting the door slam shut behind her. No one would notice her anyway. No one could hear her struggle underneath the swell of music. No one would see her between the forest of bodies and motion. Her escape was nearly guaranteed!
Her stride was wider than ever before, more of a gallop than a jog. The stale air howled past her as she ran, brushing twirling breaths through her long raven hair, across her cheeks. She was breathless, her heart pounding in time with each leap she made down into the darkness of the long, straight shot of hallway. At the edge of this hall held step one of her haphazard escape plan; she’d break through the back exit, roll through the small garden outside, and keep running until she made her way out past the wall of evergreens. As long as she could make it into the forest, she could keep going, zigzagging her way through the tall bones of birch trees until she was somewhere safe, dark, and deep, where none could hope to find her.
Hikari heard a door open before she saw it, before her eyes could adjust. It took her too much time to stop in her tracks, her unsteady footing sending her gliding, screeching against the smooth, waxed tiled floor.
Volo had found the exit point she’d planned. He crept in through the back door, standing in the way of Hikari’s desired exit. He laughed to himself as he watched Hikari slide, staring as she twisted herself to regain balance. Volo waited patiently from where he stood in the doorframe.
Hikari pressed herself into the opposite direction as soon as her body could cooperate. She stretched her arms out, crouching to slow her swerve. Hikari saw Volo lurch for her all at once from her peripheral vision as soon as she decided to chase the promise of the north exit, the one that would lead her out past the front gate. It was riskier, and there were likely other threats she’d encounter there, but if she could still make it into the thick of the trees she’d have every opportunity to disappear. Against the odds, she pressed onwards towards her only shot.
She ran so fast that the hallway was a complete blur, the wind crashing against her, pleading with her to turn back. Old, forgotten posters lined the walls where stained lockers didn’t, all melting into streaks of yellows and oranges against a backsplash of mint green. The only light left on in this wing of the school was a single, blinking fluorescent bulb, a thin rectangle, sending the world into darkness whenever it pleased.
Hikari could only gauge how close Volo was by the sound of his footsteps behind her—how they hammered behind her, faster than her own! Hikari had the advantage of a few feet initially, but it all seemed pathetic now, halfway up the hallway, around the first corner on the way to the main hall. Volo’s crazed cackling rang down the throat of the empty hallway, tearing into its painful, whirling stillness.
“Keep running!” Volo roared, thick with a strange emotion that Hikari couldn’t recognize.
Hikari realized slowly that her body was reaching its breaking point, tingling with an exhausted numbness the closer that Volo got. She begged her legs to keep working, to keep up the stride she had set, to push her closer to her exit. She could see the two interlocked doors now, long, glinting metal squares, only a few feet away. She could see the moonlight filtering through their tiny windows, how it splashed cool light onto the pool of glistening, polished floor. She was so close.
Hikari cried out in desperation against her body, realizing that the part of the heat on her face was from her own frustrated tears, rolling across the thickness of her cheeks before they flew back into the mess of her hair. She could hear Volo’s wet breath behind her, her final warning. Her body was impossibly hot, but Hikari felt her blood as though it were ice cold.
Volo jumped in front of her path, stopping her with ease. It was obvious he could have ended the chase whenever he’d wanted—that he was playing with his new toy, nurturing it with a false sense of hope just so he could drown it in despair.
Hikari wailed, sobbing in earnest, skidding to the corner nearest to the doors, hoping she could somehow inch her way toward them, her mind refusing to submit to the one who demonstrated his superior power.
Hikari hit the ruby brick tile, a slab of thick grooves filled with cement that composed the entrance of the school, flipping her body back, pressing it to the cold bricks. She turned her head to face Volo. Although she knew, rationally, it was unlikely that Volo could kill her, there was a quiet voice which pleaded with her to value her safety, to continue to crawl with all of her might towards the exit. Every centimeter counted, became profoundly meaningful whenever a new, long, stroke in between each layer of bricks brushed against her fingertips.
“Do you realize it yet?” Volo’s tone was calm, a patently false impression of normal that Hikari could now easily recognize.
“What?” Hikari’s voice was small, her breath totally shattered from fear and the strain of the chase combined. She knew from the way that Volo spoke that she had no choice but to answer. “Realize what?”
“You were never going to make it through those doors.”
Hikari felt the sweat roll from her brow, clammy and sick beneath her styled bangs. His words hit her hard, threatening to glue her feet firmly to the place where they now trembled. She waited with horror for him to elaborate, her mind racing to dissect the logic behind Volo’s actions. What punishment could he have in store for her this time?
She thought of all of the times she had been severely punished by paid staff for no reason at all—how badly it all stung, how deeply humiliating it was. Although the other campers were dished out their fair share of suffering and torture, the tailored, methodical methods behind Hikari’s special punishments were alienating. An overwhelming sense of nausea washed over her as she tried to imagine what a punishment might look like for someone who had intentionally disobeyed as she just had.
“Where did you think you were going?” He asked, a false sense of calm behind his rhetorical question—he knew full well what her intentions were, as the idea of escape was the dream of the many. He didn’t need to catch his breath, but he allowed Hikari this time to catch hers. His tone was that of an impending moral authority, of the backwards, reality-crushing logic he was about to impose upon Hikari. Paid staff members were experts at massaging out all points of memory of the real world from campers' minds, ensuring the effectiveness of their tightly knit fishbowl, their fabricated science experiments. His body was in its peak form, trained to its breaking point under the radiant swell of summer sun. Hikari knew all along that he surpassed her in strength by 33 degrees and beyond, but the light of hope had pushed her to disobey. She regretted it now.
“I don’t know.” Hikari felt the edge of the raw steel of the door frame against her pale fingertips. Her response to Volo was more a forced acknowledgement, loaded with guilt. It wasn’t a lie. She hadn’t had much of an idea of where she would run once she’d reached the treeline. In a sense, she could tell from the disorganized manner of her thoughts that even she knew all along there was no hope of escape.
“Wow.” Volo rearranged the mental chess board that their enmity was built upon with every word. He made his move, adjusting his pieces each time the conversation was back in his control, grinning hungrily at Hikari’s amateur plays. “It sure seemed like you had somewhere to be in a hurry.”
The spotlight spun back to Hikari. She stuttered, calculating her move, the right move. As always, there was only one correct, ever-changing answer and she was expected to have it memorized. She couldn’t think of a move—there were very few moves left. She held only a few pieces to her name. Most opponents would have swiped her down the second she’d exposed herself, but Volo was different—he enjoyed the struggle of battle more than anything else. Even in a secured victory, he would wait until he could crush her to ashes. Hikari was cornered.
“I’m sorry.” Hikari weakly responded, sensing the timer that counted down between each interaction, the timer before physical violence would be used to pound out her response, counting down to its last seconds. Her desperation was clear, visible even on her body. She could find nothing else to say, even as she tunneled through her mind for even a single word more. She repeated it, the expectant silence from Volo deafening in its disapproval—as loud as the shriek of a buzzer indicating the wrong answer. “I’m really sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
Volo made his way closer. He’d swept all of Hikari’s pieces off the board. It was time to retrieve her queen, to crush it to dust between his fist. Hikari repeated herself louder, jolting to the safety of the door, realizing how hot she had gotten as soon as the bite of steel slammed into her back. Volo’s footsteps were solid, his boots ringing out across the empty air of the reception area. A sick expression twisted on his face, Hikari started to cry uncontrollably, shouting ‘I’m sorry!’—as if he’d ever accept her raw emotion and relent.
Certainly, he accepted the emotion; he happily digested it as he fed on it, sucking it in as he breathed heavy through his nostrils. He’d pushed her to the exact place he craved—the demonstration of such a terrified, pathetic Hikari, stewed in this delightful state of despair only a foolish child could enter. He closed in on her, his shadow eclipsing her, invading all the corners of her body.
Hikari’s body entered autopilot as soon as she could feel him truly upon her, her tears becoming silent, forfeiting the incessant drill of ‘I’m sorry’. She dug her fingers into the handles of the door, giving one giant tug. The door didn’t move; instead, the resistance of its firm lock rolled Hikari’s spent body backwards. She howled, realizing that what he said was true. She’d never had any hope. Volo had crushed her last piece—he’d forced her down this way on purpose to a door he’d locked beforehand. He had won, demonstrating the full force of his authority, his superior intellect, and the levels at which he had designed all interactions that took place in this upside-down world.
Hikari slumped against the door, body releasing itself in a hysteria, only capable of visualizing all the ways that her torture would play out.
Volo grabbed her by the wrist, snapped her towards him to face him, a command to look at him. He began to sing a song Hikari and all of her peers had been groomed to recognize, one of the many anthems to the sick games that the paid staff played.
“Hikari, Hikari, if you’re able…” Singing the theme of victory brought forth a grimy sense of joy within Volo. “Come closer for appraisal. We are very unimpressed with the best behavior of our guest.”
Hikari felt her mind crawling as soon as she heard the melody, being pulled against her wishes until she was too close. She focused on a distant point, lost behind her eyes.
“Turn around, turn around, turn around, turn, turn, turn!” Volo kept singing, the heat behind his song reaching its boiling point as he spun her around in time with its cadence. Hikari trembled as her body lurched into its position. She closed her eyes tightly shut, her body being kind enough to release her, numbing her mind as much as possible with the power of dissociation.
Volo stopped singing for a moment, crashing Hikari to the ground with his palm, sending her whirling into a nosedive, face-first into the waxy floor. The pain reached her distantly, like waves, her body preparing itself for more. Her lips bruised on impact, bleeding where her teeth had struck them.
Volo grabbed both of her ankles with a fierce pressure, dragging her backwards by that sensitive point, so rough it made her hips scream in pain. Volo treated her body with less care than he would treat a sandbag, sending her soaring across the floor.
Her body was loose in submission, accepting her defeat. As Volo dragged her, her glassy, distant gaze focused on the two large steel doors that had one promised her escape. Now, they only mocked her and any hope that she had left.
Volo kept pulling her, fierce and fast so that every time he rounded a corner her body was thrown sliding in a curved arc around him. She scrambled to balance herself steady with her hands to try to minimize the damage, but it was of little use. They made their way down the opposite end of the hall, into the thick darkness that the single fluorescent light and the glow of the moon could not reach.
Volo kicked the doors that awaited them at the end of their journey down the hall open with his feet, thin sheets of plywood caving to his demand and clattering apart. He hauled Hikari in against the carpeted floor which burned against her exposed skin. It smelled old, stale, despite being clean.
Now in the center of the room, Volo released Hikari, throwing her onto her back so she could see—so she could be forced to acknowledge this next stage of her punishment.
The room was barren, repurposed to a shell of itself. It housed no furniture, not a chair or a desk or anything expected of a school. In the center was a long wooden box, big enough for a person to crawl in. It had a heavy lock, a large top with tiny holes drilled in. Volo didn’t need to tell Hikari to stay still. He eagerly opened it, throwing the mouth of the casket open, revealing its deep wooden belly to the damp air of the room.
He ran his fingers down along the serrated groove in the polished wood, almost sensually. Satisfied, he picked up Hikari by the collar of her beautifully pressed dress shirt—the one that she didn’t own, the one that was assigned to her, the one that she could never repair. It ripped against the gravity of Volo’s orders but her body obeyed, scrambling up onto her feet the best that she could.
“Take off your clothes.” Volo’s voice had a faint, condescending melody to it, but he wouldn’t break out in song again.
Hikari sheepishly obeyed. She couldn’t look at him, wouldn’t dare to, terrified to behold his expression. She raised the dress shirt up across her smooth stomach, across her chest, in which her heart felt like it might burst at any moment. She awkwardly held the shirt in her hands, wincing at the gruesome tears where it looked like the shirt had been torn to shreds.
Volo held out his hand for the shirt, smiling at her knowingly, feigning a detached politeness. Hikari folded it; the way she was trembling made it difficult, but she succeeded. Without being told, she unbuttoned her pants, shook her hips, and stepped out of them, folding them up and putting them into his waiting arms. Her face was pink, waiting on the hem of her blue striped panties. She hadn’t worn a bra, and her mind swam in all directions as Volo stared at her thin form.
“You know what’ll happen if you don’t listen.”
Hikari recoiled reflexively. She shakily guided her panties down her legs, stepping out of them, adding them to the top of the pile. She was cold, tired, and dizzy. She covered her body the best she could with her arms, shielding herself from the way she knew Volo was staring.
Volo set her clothes down onto the dense, yellow carpet, right next to the open box. He pressed a hand firmly into Hikari’s shoulder, squeezing her so tight that Hikari felt like his nails would break the skin. She yelped but stayed still, trying to cover her mouth with her hands so another cry wouldn’t accidentally erupt.
Volo threw her so she collapsed against the box.
“Get in.”
Hikari helped herself in, looking up at Volo with watery eyes. She settled down into the wooden bed, sitting politely.
“Lay down.”
Hikari adjusted herself, laying down onto her back. She tried to focus on her breath, to count from one to ten on repeat, to focus on the numbers rather than the panic that swelled within her.
Volo slammed the top of the casket shut. The force of it sent a crack through the air that pierced Hikari’s ears, producing a startling sound, a clattering shot that sounded as violent as a handgun. It shook the box and its contents with a ferocious power. Hikari was sent into total darkness, a darkness that made her feel as though her eyes couldn’t work even when they were open and searching.
She could hear Volo clicking the lock hurriedly. Then nothing. She waited.
She felt a sense of peace when she heard Volo leave the room, despite being trapped in the darkness. It wasn’t uncomfortable; there was a natural bowl to the box where her naked body lay, and there was a subtle tilt to it. It left the top half of her body tilting downwards, but only slightly. She closed her eyes—it was useless to try to keep them open anyway. She would wait it out in here until she’d be let out.
Hikari heard Volo’s return was louder this time, her senses were heightened and she was dialed into the sound of Volo kicking the door open again. She heard the sound of his leather shoes as they creaked against the carpet. He was above her. She could sense it. He set something down on top of the wooden box before dragging his hands across it. She could hear his nails scrape against all the small holes in the wood. Hikari now felt all of the weight of being trapped crush her. She wiggled, trying to find that place of comfort again, but the anticipation made it impossible.
Suddenly, she heard a strange sound, a rolling hiss. Hikari felt it nearly instantly. She screamed as it hit her naked skin. Volo was slowly—gently, even—pouring boiling water into the holes, starting at her feet.
Steam filled the box immediately. Between the steam and the pain, Hikari felt like she couldn’t get a breath. She thrashed herself away from the water but it sank between her legs and rushed along the slope, collecting around her shoulders. It seared the skin of her ankles, her feet and her calves, cooling only slightly as it hiked across her exposed form.
Volo would pour less than a quarter of a cup, but Hikari could feel her flesh bubbling. She saw red, felt as though she were bleeding. She couldn’t look to see what was happening to her skin and her mind, left only to imagine, inventing horrific ideas, all presented to her as if she could pull herself away. She lifted herself as much as she could, colliding with the lid of the box over and over again. No matter where she tried to place her legs, a portion of her body would be forced down further and a new piece of her would be subject to the severity of the boiling water. By now, there was enough that she was coated in a film of sweat, each desperate movement she made as she tried to scramble away making a wet smack against the growing pool of bubbling liquid.
When Volo poured more—this time, Hikari was certain, was significantly more than the last—she screamed in agony. She threw herself towards the lid, crashing down into the pool and sending the lake of fire splashing across the inside of her legs and her belly. Her skin felt as if it were peeling.
“Let me out!” She shrieked, drumming her fists into the top. The ability to silently accept her punishment was lost on her. She would do anything to get out of here.
Sizzling, whistling on its way through the tiny holes came her response, new water—this time freezing cold. Hikari howled, trying to claw her way out to escape its path. It stung worse , the shock sending her vision into bright ice blue. Her brain hummed, feeling as though it were being stabbed directly. Her body felt like it was being splintered. Somewhere deep in her mind, she was grateful that her legs were finally going numb.
She couldn’t use language anymore. She panted, mind spinning. In the emptiness, her body focused on survival. Her mind warned her that she was covered in blood, that the slick of her sweat was, in reality, tears from her open wounds. She whimpered fragmentary sentences, pleading with Volo but too broken in mind to produce anything other than meaningless gibberish.
She stayed like that for a while, for what felt like an impossibly long stretch of time. She sank, spiraling away into Volo’s body, his actions. Her ears strained to listen for his next move. He adjusted his tools on top of the casket, each vibration sending Hikari into her confusing prayers, jolting around in her cage like an electrocuted animal. He laughed whenever she ran out of steam, gaining something, something he felt was truly worthwhile from the experience.
Randomly, without any particular pattern, Volo would pour ice cold water in just to frighten Hikari into thinking that it was boiling. Her mind played disgusting tricks on her. Volo had no rhyme or rhythm to where he’d let it fall, sometimes over her face, sometimes over her waist. Even though the water was freezing, Hikari’s fractured mind imagined the threat as hot.
After a while, Hikari stopped responding to the stimulus. From either the pain or the lack of fresh oxygen, she’d calmed down, reached a state of complete emptiness. She felt a different kind of blackness, a deep pit, embracing her, cradling her down into a soul-numbing nothingness. She curled up there, riding out wave after wave until the moment to awaken came again.
Volo opened the box, flipping the lid up in a strong demonstration of his power. His face held a look both of concern and heavy arousal as he appraised Hikari’s condition, eyes roaming over the scorched, flushed skin where he’d disciplined her.
He reached for her vacant form, folding her up into his arms, bringing her twisted arms to their sides. She obeyed him like a doll, drooling, body completely slack. He brought a towel to her shoulders, pressing down into her sides, running fibers that now felt like needles down her arms. Hikari stirred in her still mind from the pain but remained somewhere distant.
Volo picked her up in his arms, setting her onto a stool which he must have brought in at some point. He dressed her with an unsuitable sense of care, a perfection to his workings. He brushed her tangled hair with his fingers. He cooed to her calmly, gently. He treated the worst of her wounds. Then he stared into her face, his fingers digging sharply into her chin.
“You will never leave.” Volo snarled, his aggression snapping Hikari to a dreamy state of awareness. “I’ll kill you before you do. I’ll really do it. You can’t stop me. I’ll eat you before I let you go. You’re mine.”
The words hardly reached Hikari in her numbness but she nodded slowly.
“Yes.” Her voice was small, but she continued to nod. She felt safe in the way Volo’s face softened with pleasure. She’d found the right answer. She was proud of herself. “I promise. I’m sorry.”
Volo granted her permission to fall slack in his arms. “That’s better.”
Fandom: Pocket Monsters: Diamond & Pearl & Platinum | Pokémon Diamond Pearl Platinum Versions
Pairing: (F/M) Darkrai/Hikari | Dawn
Tags: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Tentacles, Mildly Dubious Consent, Pokephilia, Bad Ending, Vaginal Sex, Tentacle Rape, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Consensual Bondage, Implied/Referenced Mind Control, Clothed Sex
Summary: Hikari finds herself stranded on New Moon Island. It’s too bad she’ll never get to leave.
Read on: AO3 | Tumblr (under the cut)
A/N: This was *supposed* to be a piece for day one of Whumptober but it ended up not… being whump at all, really.
The prompt I (tried) to follow was for day one.
No. 1 A LITTLE OUT OF THE ORDINARY
Adverse Effects | Unconventional Restraints | “This wasn’t supposed to happen”
My day two piece for Whumptober will definitely count though. Lol.
Also—appalling to me that only three other Darkrai/Hikari fics exist on AO3. Let me show you why it’s an amazing idea…
————— ୨୧ —————
The new moon glittered in the open sky. It was a beautiful, clear evening, all of the world a canvas gently washed with a creamy pastel blue. The ocean was calm, lapping slowly at the dock and its brightly colored ships. Passersby were making their way home or to Canalave City’s Pokémon center, their partner Pokémon in tow behind them. Hikari sat with her feet dangling over the side of the wooden drawbridge, kicking them back and forth in time with a simple melody she hummed. She enjoyed the smell of the fresh salt air, how refreshing it felt to relax after such a long trip of adventuring with her party.
She started to dig through her pink rucksack to examine her new wares, the variety of objects she’d accumulated but hadn’t had the time to inspect in detail. With another gym badge under her belt, she had some leisure time to enjoy herself and get herself better organized for what would come—especially now that she was finally one step closer to challenging her hero, Cynthia.
Her hands brushed against her Poké Balls. She laid out her TMs carefully—she didn’t want to drop them into the sea. She labeled her berries that she’d collected from the twisted brush outside the city. Finally, her hands met a thin, wrinkled piece of waxy paper. She’d forgotten about this completely!
Some time ago, she was given this mysterious ticket. Hikari could hardly remember where, having met so many unique types of folk all along her journey. It almost felt like a strange dream when she tried to remember it, foggy in the shape of its details, wispy in its logic and feeling. Yet, there was the ticket, firmly within her grasp, tangible and as real as the bottles of fresh water she’d kept in the pocket outside of it. It was a members card, that much was clear from the elegant font across the front of the bookmark sized object. It was written in cursive. She turned it onto its back, finding dates—but the most recent was fifty years ago. She was puzzled.
Why would anyone give her something so useless? Somehow, it felt like there had been an importance behind the item. Hikari noticed the words Harbor Inn of Canalave City. Why, she was in town right now! She wondered what this inn would look like, especially after such a long time. She needed a rest anyway before she could set out tomorrow—it was much too late to go anywhere now. She dusted off her pink skirt, kicking her boots back onto her feet firmly. She tossed all of her items back into her backpack before setting out to search through the city.
It hadn’t taken her all that long to find it. She had to ask a few locals for directions, winding around the district of town which held the Pokémon Center and the Poké Mart for more time than she would have liked. The Harbor Inn was far off, looking as simple as any other ordinary house, as close to the docks as it could get. From the outside, it looked like a fishing shack. It wasn’t well maintained and didn’t match any of the allure that the ticket promised. Hikari wandered in.
Only one man was there. He was terribly old, half asleep when she’d entered. He awoke with a start, rushing to meet Hikari, fascinated by her ticket. Something seemed terribly off about him, but Hikari couldn’t place it. After all, the interior looked a lot better than the exterior. The beds prepared for guests looked awfully comfortable. Even better, the man insisted that she rest for free, that her ticket was proof enough that she had earned the right to be here. Hikari made a mental note to try and say thank you to whoever had given her this membership card if she ever got the chance.
Hikari hadn’t realized how exhausted she was until she'd sat down at the tea table that the old man had set up. He was eager to serve her, and while his laughter was unnerving, he rambled on about the history of this place, how many had seemed to have forgotten its existence. Hikari gingerly sipped her herbal tea, thinking how strange of an aroma it held, how it felt almost sour as it tingled on her tongue. Hikari, however, was a very polite girl, and she finished off the mug that had been so kindly prepared for her.
Shortly after it had been done, Hikari felt her body and mind feel foggy. The old man seemed to notice, helping her to her bed kindly, tucking her in, wishing her sweet dreams. Hikari felt delightfully comfortable, her dreams surging towards her with great strength before her eyes could flutter closed.
————— ୨୧ —————
When she awoke, she was surrounded by thick, rolling fog. It was the dead of night, silent save for the rush of the breeze fresh off the sea as it filtered through the thick trees overhead. She was on a rocky shore, one she didn’t recognize or remember ever being called to before. She, thankfully, still had her rucksack. She checked for her Pokémon, thinking herself lucky when she found them. She called on her Togekiss, wondering if she could use it to fly home from wherever this place was—but the fog was too dense. Togekiss couldn’t seem to get enough wind beneath her wings to ascend despite trying her absolute hardest. Hikari sighed. They’d have to wait it out.
“This definitely wasn’t supposed to happen…” Hikari muttered to herself, rubbing her arms with her palms for warmth. Whatever had happened to the nice, warm, comfortable bed she had been in just moments ago?
She felt ice cold, the chill rolling in from the tumultuous ocean. She examined the rocky cliff face that led into the forest, the twisted trees that all hung off of the large chunks of tumbling boulders, their branches skewed by decades of harsh westerly winds. If she hiked just a little, she could make it into the cover of the needle-cloaked trees, she would find shelter within their dense protection.
She walked up and along the cliff, using exposed roots to help herself up. All the while she hiked, loose pieces of stone ricocheted to the shore, cracking loudly in their descent. Most of her fighting-ready Pokémon were in storage, but thankfully Blissey was with her. Blissey offered her enough support to make it up the hill without stumbling.
Through the fog, Hikari could tell once she’d climbed up the peak of the cliff that she was on a strange island. She stared out into the night sky, searching for the northern star to try to chart her current location. All she could find was the shadow of the new moon, staring back at her.
She decided to press on, into the thick of the forest.
The forest floor was littered with shed pine needles, thick and crunchy beneath her fluffy boots. The grass grew wild in the cracks between the rocks. It seemed that this island wasn’t very hospitable to plants. Only the strongest could survive its harsh nature—only those with roots that could penetrate into the thick, craggy earth.
The dense patches of growth gave way to a smooth slope, a clean, circular clearing. A tiny lake rippled in the center, the breath of the sea skipping along its face. The fog wasn’t as dense here, in the shelter, but it still made things hazy, made Hikari second guess her eyes and what she was seeing.
Hovering across the undulating waters was a dark shadow, so close to human in its form. It shuddered, almost matching the thin crests of waves in the lake, reflecting its movements. It seemed as though it were waiting, expectantly still. The closer that Hikari ventured, the more she realized its shape was decidedly inhuman, something far beyond it. What she thought were its legs were actually long, black plumes that wisped away at a moment's notice like smoke against the wind. Its body even shimmered as though it were not fully opaque. Hikari’s heart pounded as she beheld it, unsure if it was even a Pokémon. If it were, it was unlike anything she had ever heard of. Her body trembled to witness it—both with excitement and fear—for she could sense its incredible power.
Hikari prided herself on excelling in research, in memorizing hundreds of Pokémon and hundreds more pieces of trivia. She had befriended countless, had grown her whole life surrounded by happy memories with them. However, in all of her days, she had never even heard of something like this.
Almost as though it recognized her complex emotions, as if it recognized the attention and deep thought that she had placed upon him, the creature disappeared.
It vanished in a burst of black, resembling black ink soaking into a canvas as it dematerialized. Hikari patiently waited, wondering where—and if—it would reappear.
She didn’t have to wait very long.
Hikari’s mind still felt strange, like it was affected by something beyond her control. She couldn’t place it and at first she left it up to the assumption that she’d just awoken. However, the moment that the creature seemed to burst and evaporate into the filtering white of the fog, Hikari felt it stronger than ever. She slid down the gentle slope, coming closer to the pond where it had waited. She rustled in her bag, wondering if she had any Poké Balls to attempt a capture or a battle.
Before she could get her hands around one of the ones that could help defend her, a sharp force smashed into her bag, sending the contents soaring out and into the pool of water. Hikari was frustrated with herself. Even though she couldn’t find the source of the attack, she hadn’t felt threatened yet.
Hikari walked to the water's edge, bending down to try and grab her expensive TMs before the water had a chance to ruin them. Her skirt hiked up the curves of her thighs, hem rolling the breeze, revealing the softness of her plush ass. Her pink patterned panties clung to her, showing the thin, slightly damp outline of her clit against the skim, soft fabric. Hikari figured no one was there to see, so she let herself be presented in such a shameful way, even spreading out her legs as she tried to crouch to find what she was looking for.
Thick, swampy tendrils coiled around the curve where her ass sloped to meet her slender legs. It’s grip was vicious, desperate, like a corkscrew as it twisted harder and faster around her legs, pulling her until she was crashing backwards. Hikari had little time to think before both of her legs were dragged up and out behind her, causing her body to lift up into what felt like open air. Using her palms, thrusting them into the clear lake itself, Hikari looked between her wobbling arms to see that same filmy black—so obvious it was shimmering now, almost like the density of its body itself fluttered like a butterfly—that had made up the creature. It started to pull Hikari closer, back towards it, leaving Hikari to grab weakly at the rocky shore, pebbles all falling from her grasp as she was dragged back further and further, closer towards the strange, dissolving creature.
Hikari found her Pokédex between the heaps of smooth, multicolored river rocks. She flipped it open, trying to aim it between herself. The creature sent her back falling to the ground and as her torso twisted the tendrils squeezed harder, possessively. The Pokédex chirped as it opened, attempting to gain data—but it couldn’t find anything. All that it would produce was a blank page, empty save for the name Darkrai.
Hikari was puzzled, but she didn’t get a chance to focus on it for long. She felt viscous, muscular vines draw her wrists back. By now she was suspended in the air itself. She felt all the power rush from her in one, long breath, frozen in her chilling restraints. She tried to look at herself but all she could see was how far she was spread apart, how exposed she was. Goosebumps dotted her rosy blushing skin.
Smooth, rippling darkness pooled at her bare legs, lapping against her skin until it had swallowed her all the way down past her knees. A sultry heat overwhelmed her, as though she’d fallen into countless kisses across the planes of her flesh. She shuddered from the sensation, feeling a strange, rising pleasure beyond her control and imagination penetrating through the layers of her flesh, reaching even inside her muscles and bones. Her blood pounded, heart racing, sinking deeper and deeper into the shadow that kept her frozen still, outstretched for its invasion.
Two pointed drills, smooth to the touch but damp with a mysterious liquid, pressed into her, oozing against the heat of her skin. One snaked under the edge of her shirt, running hurriedly up the curve of her stomach, soaring against skin with urgency until it could coil around the curves of her breasts. It could massage both at once, an impossible rhythm sending tight undulations through the entirety of the appendage, as if swallowing.
The other, snaked between Hikari’s legs—wide apart. It pressed into her soaked panties—Hikari felt ashamed, blushing at how her body had responded to the assault against her will. The rounded tip traced along her pussy, swaying repeatedly against where she radiated the most heat. Hikari couldn’t help but roll her hips into it, feeling her panties soak through completely with the pitch black slime that wept from the head of its member.
Hikari panted, her mind entering a deeper state of trance the longer the suspicious fluid Darkrai painted her with sunk into her skin. Her shame had abandoned her, her sense of self-preservation long gone. Her mind had unfurled to the heat of a twisted pleasure, pooling in her guts, rocketing through her veins as though it sparkled with every heartbeat. With an empty mind, she swayed against the intrusion where it betrayed and abused her pussy, vibrating against it— so much better than she’d ever touched herself. Even though she felt like she had cum, the sensations coursing through her body stronger than if she’d cum multiple times in a row, she needed it again. Her clit pulsed, blatant in its desires against the searching tendril that now worked to slide under her grimy, blackened panties.
She moaned as Darkrai touched her steamy pussy, finally relaxing as it felt like it was sucking and kissing her everywhere she wanted. Her voice grew louder, unabashed, wordlessly calling out for more , for it to press inside her. She had never been fucked, but her body knew exactly what it wanted. Darkrai’s toxic film primed her mind, shaping it into all that it needed to be to accept her fate—relinquishing her virginity to a monster.
The velvety tentacle swirled around her pussy, pressing against her sticky hole until it was sucked inside. It shivered, in the same state of arousal as Hikari. It spiraled against her tight walls, working its way in deeper and deeper, encouraged by Hikari’s frantic moans. Her body was slick with sweat, trembling from an indescribable pressure. It felt like she was falling apart.
Darkrai pushed itself as deep inside as it could possibly go, coiling itself against her, surging until she was filled to the limit of what her body could take. It swirled around inside her, obsessed with the friction, the damp heat that finally offered it the warmth it had been always searching for.
The entire length of Darkrai’s member shuddered inside her as it came, pumping her completely full of boiling black liquid—a dangerous, inescapable neurotoxin straight from the source. Whenever Hikari was sure it would stop, that she couldn’t possibly fit any more, Darkrai twitched again, releasing just enough to make Hikari feel like she could burst.
Hikari came against the assault as though she were on cue. Her body responded thoughtlessly, unraveling in a submission to its new master, the one that now treated her like a simple doll on strings. She drooled. It felt so good. Deep inside her, she was happy, even fulfilled that she could be such a wonderful toy for something as supremely powerful and strong as this creature. It felt like the natural order of things, her role as a piece of meat on the totem pole.
Darkrai gripped her hard, furiously forceful, even mightier than it had before around her tender waist. It pulled her back into shadow, into her new prison. Hikari felt all the air crush from her in one devastating instant, her mind swimming, choking until she fell into numbness and shadow.
pinterest users love to comment “oh this post is so *fictional character*” and usually it’s recognizable figure like hannibal lecter or bucky barnes, but sometimes ppl just comment the most obscure characters like
— You never know what will hatch from a Pokemon egg, right? I wondered and wondered what it would hatch into. It had my heart racing. Then, when I warmed it up with all my might. She hatched from it. I was so happy.
Cynthia and her Garchomp | Pokemon Journeys EP 122
Tags: Stalking, Obsessive Behavior, Obsession, Predator/Prey, Bathing/Washing, Violent Thoughts, Grooming, Power Imbalance, Manipulation, Hikari | Dawn and Shou | Akari are the Same Person, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Age Difference, Religious Imagery & Symbolism
Summary: Volo has a game he's playing with Akari. It's more fun that she doesn't know the stakes.
Read on: AO3 | Tumblr (under the cut)
Part 1 of Intruder Next Work →
There he was once more, an unwavering, expecting stillness. The hum of his quiet, steady concentration from curtains of shadow, from between the tall reeds of grass, from the branched webbed cracks that climbed Akari’s windowpane, the shape occupying the yawning spaces of empty door frames. Life—the monotonous, the mundane—all of it shrill static that was nothing more than audio-visual noise, spiraled around his observations, irrelevant, siphoned down the drain, worthy of nothing more than the temporary tension of a rehearsed smile.
The wolf lived among his flock of sheep, making himself comfortable, likable, and familiar. He played their games, pretended to care about their trivialities and petty obsessions. He performed a song and dance to make himself predictable, to turn himself into a marketable ghost of himself. His true form waited, behind his hazel eyes, meticulous in devotion to the presence that only he could truly understand—listening for the voice of his angel in the language of patterns and symbols that only he, the chosen disciple, could discern.
Volo’s unclean hands would tremble with desire, the form of desire that would send him into an inferno of unforgivable hatred. His breath would quicken, as if all forms of himself were shocked at the surge of pure energy she provoked—was a higher-dimensional being hiding, judging, staring back at him, the part of himself that was vulnerable, when he foolishly caught the eyes of her child form? Had he ever been this afraid, even as a young boy? She acted so painfully gentle, ignorant, as though she appeared as a stupid sheep like the rest of them. Had he ever been so revolted by anything? Every part of her newly constructed body was perfect, unblemished, untouched, glossy and dewy and as fresh as a newly blossomed flower. Did he ever want anything so badly?
It had taken more time than he would have liked for Akari to notice the crazed look he gave her when she wasn’t looking. She had trusted him with open arms and the naïveté that she offered the whole world. She had fallen for his games and purchased the lies he sold. Maybe Volo was getting sloppy; maybe he wanted to witness for himself how she might react to his true feelings, or how she might think of him if she became aware of his true disposition.
They were alone together, inside her home, having spent the evening talking to each other and their friends after a long day of field work. Without truly understanding his actions, like a child, he lashed out intentionally to startle her, daring Akari to reveal once and for all if she were composed of meat and blood—or if she were nothing more than a wisp of aether or a dream.
Akari didn’t speak for a moment, frightened by the way his widened eyes traced her movements. She had never taken into account their differences, even in terms of scale, but suddenly Volo seemed as tall as a mountain and she felt lost in its shade. The flames at the pit of the Iori reflected off him, flickered in his eyes as he held position even though he had clearly been discovered, even as Akari reached instinctively to cover her chest with her arms.
“Are you okay?” Akari’s gentle voice wobbled as she asked. She made herself smaller, just as a wounded animal might.
Volo didn’t answer. He drew himself upon his haunches, stalking forwards slowly, towards her from the opposite side of the flames. The tatami mat creaked under the pressure of his feet.
“Volo?”
Akari froze as she watched something else possess him. She was confused; she’d felt so comfortable, and she enjoyed spending time with Volo so much that she treasured the time they had alone. While Akari was still embarrassed to admit it, she knew deep down that she had something of a crush on Volo. She believed it to be one-sided, as he was many years older than her and more of a mentor than a friend, but she still thoughtlessly made efforts to impress him and draw him closer.
Volo stood swiftly. Akari could hear his breath now, a strange bestial rhythm. She darted backwards, still on her knees, supporting herself on her hands which trembled. She climbed the threshold to her bedroom, too nervous to turn her back to Volo for one moment. She squeaked in genuine fear and that was enough.
Volo lunged for her, crashing down so he straddled her, long strands of hair pouring out from under his cap. He smiled, satisfied with the answer he had received, the blessing—Akari was made of flesh the same as him, a human-angel designed for him, to compliment and suit him. She cried out in a state of shock, but the sound was dampened as soon as Volo pressed his hand down against her lips, silencing her. He appreciated the intimate sensation of vibration against his palm when she howled into it.
He watched her as she struggled, watched as she started to sweat, and admired the way she flushed pink, visible even in this late hour of night.
“You’re just a girl.” His voice was heavy with disgust, his eyebrows furrowed. “A little girl.”
Akari thrust her hips upwards, trying to buck Volo off of her, but it was useless to her escape. In fact, it only aided Volo, giving some friction to what he hadn’t yet accepted that he wanted. Volo rolled his head upwards, restraining himself from releasing any demonstration that she’d had that kind of effect on him—after all, it was a weakness. He bit his lip.
“You really had me there.”
She tried to suck in air from around his fingertips as he spoke to her. He ran a free hand through the long locks of her raven hair, watching as it fell, orbiting around her frame neatly like a halo.
The exchange felt like it was in slow motion for both parties, but it had only been seconds. Volo’s severe expression lightened, he released Akari’s mouth and held up both hands palms out towards her in feigned surrender. His usual lighthearted smile reappeared on his face, smoothly and innocently as though he wasn’t pinning Akari to the floor.
“You should have seen your face!” He laughed, pretending his outburst was merely a joke. Despite smiling, his eyes didn’t crinkle with joy, and no tenderness lurked behind them. “You know you should be more careful who you let stay home alone with you so late at night!” He wagged her finger at her playfully.
Akari didn’t laugh, her chest rising and falling rapidly while she caught her breath. She couldn’t process what had just happened. Volo was acting normal. It made more sense that it was just a joke, but the fear had been so real. She tried to smile back at him, still wanting to trust him.
“You really scared me!” Akari pouted, no longer struggling to be free under his grip. “Don’t joke like that!”
“Just because you’re part of the Survey Corps doesn’t mean you’re invincible, Akari.” Volo brushed one of the long pieces of hair away from her face for her, taking a moment to let himself feel the heat radiating from her cheeks—the way they were slick from the fear he’d unleashed upon her moments before.
“Your Pokémon couldn’t have helped you just now. You have to rely on your senses.” Volo helped himself to stand. Despite his body pleading otherwise, he was done here. He’d found out what he’d needed to know. The rest… he would decide later, when he could consider the consequences rationally. He picked up his bags near the door, readjusted his hair and brought the cup he’d been drinking tea out of earlier to the makeshift sink, all with a perfectly rehearsed calmness, as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened.
“I know I’m not that strong…” Akari was on her knees now, watching him from the floor as he gathered his things to leave for the evening. “But… You’re my friend, Volo. And someone important to me. I like spending time with you.”
Volo watched her as he pushed his mug into the basin of water, pretending her words didn’t make something disgusting convulse inside him. He was glad for the shade his cap offered to mask his expression.
“I can trust you, right?” She asked, watching as Volo turned, making his way for the door.
He paused, listening to her for a moment and considering how to answer. He knew that it didn’t matter what he said. By her actions, she was naïve enough to trust him after he’d demonstrated exactly why she shouldn’t. There would be no convincing her. She had fallen into his lap.
The door swung open with a chime, rattling the wooden rain charms that hung along the eaves of her house.
He guided the door to a gentle close behind him. “Of course.”
————— ୨୧ —————
Akari held her handcrafted Feather Ball firmly in her hand, casting short motions with her wrist to test how it might fall when she let it soar. She had some Rhyhorn she was hunting, milling about a good way away—but close enough that the Ball would have an easy time reaching them. The Rhyhorn were covered in mud, same as Akari; the Mirelands were difficult to comb through without getting a little dirty, especially considering Akari had to spend most of the time on her hands and knees, snaking through the tall grass. She was glad that the Professor had devised a way to clean laundry easily so she wouldn’t have to worry about it when she went home.
But this hunter was being hunted—Akari was oblivious; just as the Rhyhorn paid no attention to Akari’s lurking presence, she in turn didn’t notice the pair of eyes that watched her from the patch of grass across the horizon. Volo knew she would be here today. He chose to follow her, making it a game to see how long it would take her to notice. He crept behind her through the bogs, across the fields, dangerously close, drawing closer, nearly drooling from the thrill of the hunt.
He decided in the rules of this game he’d newly invented, that if she couldn’t detect his presence by the time he could put his hands on her, he could rip her apart in whichever way he most felt like in the moment. If, at any point, she caught him in the act, he would surrender once more, a temporary measure, just for today. Maybe he would try again another day, under different conditions, to better test the outcome of this game.
While Akari needed smoke bombs and sprays to cover the sounds of her footsteps, Volo knew from the severity of his childhood exactly how to press himself into the earth to make the least amount of sound. He knew from experience how to walk across a bed of leaves and twigs without alerting even the most sensitive of creatures. He knew the land better than anyone else, his ancient blood singing with memory, memories that he often prayed to forget.
Volo laid on his stomach, parting blades of thick wheat with his fingers, peering through the curtain of gold. He critiqued Akari’s form as she practiced her throws. He lectured her as she rose too high in her crouched position, nearly alerting one of the Rhyhorn. He slithered closer, giddy with amusement.
Akari opened her bag, examining her wares. Her pouch was near its limit, stuffed full with a long adventure's worth of materials and goods to sell back to the market when she returned. She even had a strange stone, one she was particularly excited about, that she planned on giving to Volo as a gift once she made it back to the village. She hoped that he wouldn’t be busy with the Ginkgo Guild. She felt proud of herself and her accomplishments. After she caught Rhyhorn, she would report back to the Professor and have a much needed rest.
Volo cleared the gap between them while she had her head down. He laughed to himself, out loud, testing his luck. He was now in the same thick patch of cover with her, downwind from her, mirroring her as she was downwind from the Rhyhorn.
One of the Rhyhorn yawned, circling as though it was about to sleep. Akari leapt up. Her chance! She threw the ball, watched it rocket straight into the Pokémon’s back. It hit, wobbling while she waited expectantly, totally fixated.
Volo was so close he could smell her. He could see firsthand how the mud made her tight clothes cling to her delicate form. The tears in her uniform revealed panels of pale skin, prickly with goosebumps from the cold weather. He was only two feet away from winning his game. His stomach was tight from pleasure.
The Feather Ball crackled, the sound of fireworks shooting forth indicating it had been a successful capture. Akari chirped happily to herself, springing up from the cover of the tall grass as the other Rhyhorn ran away, charging into safer territory. Volo cursed to himself, clenching his hands into fists, balling them into the mud in angry defeat.
Akari bent to retrieve the ball, setting it into her rucksack. She took one last look at her hiding place. Strangely, she could feel something boring holes into her back, but she wasn’t sure what it could be.
The wind swept the grass gently. Akari saw a glimpse of Volo. She stared, unsure of if her eyes were playing tricks on her. She was in disbelief. There was no way… was there?
It certainly looked like him. It stayed still, watching her with that frightening gaze, unwavering…
Akari hoisted her backpack across her shoulders, wiping the mud from her hands into her pants. Her heart pounded in her chest. The wind carried the grass once more and Volo was nowhere to be found. Akari shook her head and wrote it off as purely her imagination.
————— ୨୧ —————
After what had been an exhausting day, Akari was happy to be home. The joy of having privacy and freedom within the four walls of her humble home was enough to have her dancing, throwing her gear on the porch and discarding her filthy shoes. She let her jacket fall from her waist to the floor in a heap. She’d get to scrubbing out the mud later, tomorrow morning, after she’d had a bath and rested her tired hands and knees.
Akari padded across the jade tatami mats, taking a moment to get a fire started in the Iori so she could heat the kettle for her bath. She leaned against the wooden plank that made up the working space of her kitchen, quickly scrubbing her feet in the leftover water from the sink so she wouldn’t have to clean the floors. She set the kettle to fill, then brought out the large basin that she could fit in, pushing it towards the center of the room where the fire could offer some warmth to whatever parts of her body wouldn’t fit inside.
Akari’s shadow played along the walls, warping around the long pole of the Iori, reflecting across the thick beams of her ceiling. She sighed, satisfied with her work, taking a moment to pour the boiling water into the bottom of the basin before refilling the kettle once more. Two loads of hot water would make the perfect lukewarm temperature her muscles craved once she added the stored water she kept by her kitchen.
Finally, as the kettle was near ready and after she’d added the other water and a handful of herbal bath powder, Akari released her hair from its tight ponytail. Her long glossy hair framed her form neatly, the ends curving around the small of her back and across her hips. It had gotten so much longer in the time since she had first arrived in Hisui. She combed it gently with her fingertips, careful to not agitate the strands that were frozen in mud.
Her gentle hands came to her chest, reaching to undo the band of her belt, letting both the rope and belt itself fall to the ground with a ceremonial hiss. She loosened the scarf across her neck, adding it to the pile, exposing the delicate, smooth skin of her neck and the point of her collarbones where the start of her black, semi-sheer bodysuit began. Without the support of her belt, her robe buckled, offering a glimpse of her ample breasts underneath, shining with sweat from a hard day's work. Akari shrugged her shoulders, her body all smooth lines of relaxation as she undressed, thinking she was all alone. Her robe fell off her shoulders like water, pooling down her tender flesh, rushing down her legs until it could finally meet flat ground. Her sheer bodysuit revealed all of her secrets, the pink of her skin visible across her chest, her cheeks, her tummy, her nipples—which stood completely at attention in the chill.
From behind her single window, the one that overlooked her bedroom, a familiar set of eyes enjoyed this private performance. Volo grew increasingly less cautious, no longer caring if the steam of his breath hit the glass pane—it was clear Akari wouldn’t notice. She never noticed. He wondered why he hadn’t done this sooner.
Akari peeled off her suit slowly, gently. She didn’t want to accidentally tear the gentle fabric more than it already was. She stretched her body with the elegance and patience of a gymnast. Volo was transfixed. Each new reveal of her naked skin, as unblemished and pure as her heart, sent him deeper into his frenzy. Pleasure and anger, even jealousy crashed into him, pressurized, emptying his mind until he was fully a beast, driven only by desire. He dug his fingernails into the wooden siding, desperate to feel something cave and bend to his touch.
Akari was fully nude. She reached for the kettle with more poise than Volo had seen from any tea ceremony. She stirred the water together, the thick curls of steam rushing against her skin. One foot after another, she helped herself in, holding both sides of the basin so she wouldn’t throw herself off balance. She hummed happily to herself, singing songs she could remember from home. Volo was grateful that the walls were thin enough that he could hear it.
Akari dipped a small glass into the water, pouring its contents across her arms, across her chest, down her head. The water sank into her hair. The light of the fire glittered against her damp skin. Volo hissed, using the last of his mind to offer up prayers for self control.
Volo watched the gifts God had offered him, watched as Akari ran soaps through her hair, detangling every inch, cleansing all of her body until it was brand new. Towards the end, Akari stood, working on her thighs. It was then that she noticed.
Akari was startled when she saw a strange shape in the window frame. She thought it was her eyes playing tricks, but, after seeing what appeared to be Volo lying like a snake in the grass earlier, left her anxious. Akari jumped, covering herself, leaning to one side and then the other to see if the shape would move—or maybe reveal itself as a tree, a bush.
However, even at such a late hour, she recognized the colors for what they were. They were the telltale yellow of Volo’s uniform; the unmistakable peach of human flesh, the glow of a human face.
Akari’s heart pounded. Volo was giddy from her reactions but kept himself still, unable to help himself to a grin as bright as a crescent moon. His heart throbbed in symphony with Akari’s, but it was purely from pleasure. It was exciting getting caught, but it was even more exciting and erotic to be constantly forgiven, trusted despite his dark desires and overall degeneracy.
Akari shook her head, coaxing her body out of the bath, reaching for the discarded robe to draw over her shoulders. She crept to the side of her room, away from the line of sight of the window. She caught her breath.
Volo knew she couldn’t see him from where she was now crouched. He laughed to himself, quietly, all breath that shook in his throat from a pleasant adrenaline. He ducked, crashing to the ground, creeping along the side of the house until he was clear to make his way back into the dense brush. He’d stand further back and wait. She’d make herself known. He could no longer hear her inside her home, and it was difficult to make anything out from such a far distance, but he’d wait to see what she would do. If she rushed outside for answers, he’d take it as an invitation. If she stayed inside he’d leave her alone. For now.
Akari gathered her strength and armed herself with her trusted Garchomp’s Poké Ball. She crept on tiptoe to the window, now a hauntingly unfamiliar fixture. With shaky hands she reached out, sliding it open. The cool air rushed in, shocking her. The man she saw in the window was nowhere to be seen. She squinted, straining to scan all of the trees as they swayed in the wind.
“Volo?” She called out in a tiny voice. The rustling of leaves were the only reply.
He didn’t answer. He clenched his fists, shoulders quaking from laughter. This was too fun. This was so easy. Akari kept staring out into the maw of midnight, anxiety alerting her of every strange shadow and shape that made up the landscape around her. Her eyes landed on Volo’s shape standing between the trees.
Her subconscious mind knew. It could see the form of the threat perfectly. But consciously she couldn’t see, couldn’t make out his body even though his eyes stared back into hers.
“I’m really scared.” Akari shivered, deciding enough was enough. Even though she felt that fear, there was nothing she could see in the night. There was no trace of Volo. Already, she was making excuses for him—she’d had too long of a day. Her crush with Volo left her making up imaginary visions of him—it had happened more than once. It seemed impossible that he could really be there, but not impossible for her to imagine it. Maybe she was still scared after the time he’d played that prank on her? It was easy to dismiss things when she wanted to.
Akari firmly shut the window, drawing a wooden cutting board across it so she wouldn’t have to stress herself out anymore. She tucked herself into her sleepwear and laid down in bed, ready to be rested enough so she could stop being at the whims of her imagination.
Volo sank into the folds of the woods. Still laughing, giddy from success. Each time he’d leapt for her, assuming he would be caught and punished, he was rewarded. There was rest for the wicked.
Tall branches and dense leaves consumed him, crowning him in the pitch black of night.
Pairing: (M/M) Axel/Roxas (Dissociative Identity Disorder, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Roxas Has DID - Dissociative Identity Disorder, Roxas Is An Alter, Romance, Light Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Cuddling & Snuggling)
Summary: Roxas hasn't fronted in a long time, but Axel loves him all the same.
Read on: AO3 | Tumblr (under the cut)
A/N: I wrote this to celebrate the tenth anniversary of one of my largest Axel/Roxas fanfiction I published! (Has it really been that long already?)
I would mirror it here but... let's just say I've certainly improved quite a bit in ten years time. LOL.
It felt really good to go back to my roots... my original OTP!
This story takes place in a modern AU, in the home that Axel and Roxas's system share (composed of himself, Sora, Ventus, Vanitas and some others). They've been together with Axel for a long time, but Roxas has been dormant for a while now and struggles with his past traumas and issues...
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Roxas awoke with a start, jolting back to reality with an iciness that frosted over his mind, freezing him solid in his place of fear. It was a peaceful morning, perfect in its stillness, quiet save for the gentle rhythm of Axel’s breath. Roxas’s tension sank away from him slowly, melting into the realization that he was still there; the warmth of Axel’s affection—still radiant, even in his sleep—thawed Roxas in waves like gentle licks of flames. Axel’s arms possessively coiled around Roxas’s waist, the promise of his protective nature etched into the strength of his slender arms. Roxas silently watched the dust filter through the stripes of the golden sunrise, watched it as it glittered like snowflakes, watched how the beams that christened the birth of a new day made floral patterns across their beige walls.
Even if Roxas still struggled to recall his place in this world, the time in which the couple presently existed, even how long had passed since his eyes had last opened; there was a profound sense of permanence to Axel’s presence in itself. Roxas exhaled slowly, consciously working his clumsy breath until it could match the pace Axel had set, following his guidance as he always had. Roxas moved his fingertips gently, feeling the way that their handmade quilt felt heavy against his skin, brushing his hands against the clothing he’d worn to sleep—all things that he didn’t recognize, that somehow did not belong to him, were not his own.
But Axel was.
Roxas closed his eyes, leaning back into Axel’s chest and neck. He liked that he was shorter than Axel, and he treasured how Axel loved to hold him so tightly, how Axel curled his body around him like a big cat. Axel mumbled something in his sleep and hummed as soon as he felt Roxas roll his shoulders back against his chest, nestling his fluffy hair into his exposed skin.
Roxas pulled the quilt up higher around him, pressing it over his chin and then his cheeks. He liked the weight that it held and the way that it sounded as it glided across his arms. Memories that felt like only yesterday played in his mind, informing Roxas of his lifelong mission, of his purposes, his likes and dislikes. He felt like he was being calibrated slowly, almost like an old computer; the longer Roxas was awake, the more processing power his body had, giving him time to think about what he was—or what he used to be.
Axel’s large, worn hands found Roxas’s arm, petting him in long, gentle strokes with the grace of a painter. The first signs that Axel was awake were this and how his breath became lighter, shallower.
“Hey,” He mumbled slowly, taking a moment to breathe in the way Roxas’s hair smelled against him. “Couldn’t sleep?”
Roxas felt that cold freeze again, terrified that maybe, if he spoke, his Axel might not even recognize him anymore. He paused, nervously threading his fingers into their shared blanket.
“Yeah.” Roxas kept his voice small, forgetting how to even pretend to be someone new—or whoever Axel had expected. Maybe Axel was used to this life, a life of the ever changing personalities that he had grown to love, but to Roxas, the Roxas in this moment, he felt all alone. “I’m awake.”
Axel stretched, then snaked himself back into a better position, optimizing how close he could pull Roxas. He pushed one of his legs in between Roxas’s, nuzzling his face down into Roxas’s platinum blonde hair affectionately. He kissed him there, gently.
“How long have you been awake?”
“Not sure.” Roxas closed his eyes and tried to enjoy the feeling, trying to let it all sink in. This is real. I am real. He looped this in his mind, the only coping skill he’d maintained, the only one that had reached him through all his years of therapy.
“You’re so tense…” Axel purred, his hands pausing along the smooth plain of Roxas’s upper arms. “Bad dream?”
“Something like that.” Roxas felt his body heat from the inside of his core from the tender way Axel treated him. He felt so safe, so nurtured, just in such a simple embrace. Axel’s touch had reached deep within him, anchored him to this reality. Roxas felt the permanence of Axel’s presence in every touch, even in the thin window of perspective Roxas was afforded into his life.
“I know that voice…” Axel was still so sleepy, the kind of relaxed and tired that reaches the height of human comfort. His voice blanketed Roxas. “That’s my Roxas.”
Roxas blushed. How could Axel remember him? When was the last time he’d fronted? Roxas couldn’t remember anything about this room, he couldn’t relate to any of the pictures that adorned the walls of the couple, or any of the places that the photos proudly proclaimed they were taken in. He couldn’t recognize the furniture, their bed. If he were asked what year it was, the answer would be the same—he rolled the numbers one by one, slowly, through his mind: two thousand and five, maybe two thousand and six… But admittedly, Roxas’s body felt different than a fifteen year old boy’s, and deep down he knew in his heart that much more than that had changed.
“Yeah.” Roxas wouldn’t lie. He’d been called out, recognized from the way his body held his voice, or maybe from the way he held his shoulders, or how he couldn’t help but gasp at Axel’s touch—nonetheless it hadn’t slipped past Axel’s watchful, observant eye. “It’s me.”
“I missed you.” The emotion was heavy in Axel’s voice, radiating a deep, profound love. The way Axel held Roxas tight spoke to how much he cherished him, in every form within his body and soul. “It’s been a long time.”
A long time was always relative from the perspective Roxas held, lost on the shore of the private ocean within his mind, wading through the sea of alters and their contexts that made up the patchwork of his life. Sometimes, the severity of a long time could be felt just in between the days as they passed naturally, how suddenly all of the people, places, and objects one had known are instantaneously difficult to remember in all of their complexity; how the mind of the current time struggled to bridge what had happened to jog the wheels of progression from the CD Walkman to the smartphone and onwards, onwards and upwards. A long time could be felt in the narratives one could wake up in, seeing themselves inside of, the way that arcs of development in the couple’s lives had soared by Roxas’s perception, had not sunk all the way to the bottom of his heart where he’d rested.
A long time intersected with my time, the wrong time, the sense of being inside a mysterious dollhouse of one’s own design when sleeping. The feeling of wrestling with one's choices, struggling against the consequences that one could not recall having a say in setting in motion. Yet, some incessant roots refused to be plucked, impossible to weed out of the mind, worked deep into the memory of muscles and the fiber of Roxas’s being.
This most important of these was Axel, in all of his timelessness, in all of the ways his kindness transcended the barriers erected in the maze of Roxas’s mind—how Axel’s gentle touch, those large, warm hands, could smooth down the grooves left behind from decades-old trauma time and time again. Oh, how hard Axel had labored, all with a heart of gold, learning to love Roxas for all that he was, in all the ways that he was and was not and could never be. Like running water Axel flowed along the path of consciousness that Roxas’s injured psyche needed to follow, never straying, rushing to fill the gaps of time, memories and moments with a kindness, with laughter. In sickness and in health, Axel loved all the expressions that composed Roxas, all of the shades of color that the boy named Roxas had grown to be, how proud he was that Roxas could survive at all, and how powerfully profound it was to see him happy. Each personality was a new way to reach further in Roxas’s mind, further inside his beating heart, into the folds of memory that most relationships could never hope to truly meet.
Tears stung Roxas’s eyes, dewy drops clinging to his lashes. He could no longer hold them back. They rolled silently from his cheeks.
“I’m so lost,” Roxas’s voice was weak, revealing tears that he’d never admit to anyone else. His muscles submitted when Axel held him tighter, pulled him closer. He melted into Axel’s warmth, his infinite support. “I don’t know who I am anymore.”
Axel quieted him, rocking him gently in his arms. They stayed like that for a while, Roxas turning to face him, cradled against his chest while Axel traced long lines down the smoothness of his back.
After sharing a long moment together, one granted by the merciful calm of the morning, the luxury morning provided of lots of time before Axel would have to leave for work, Roxas looked up into Axel’s gentle face.
The sun shone behind the strands of Axel’s bright red hair. It glowed against the side of his cheek, the sides of his skin that weren’t under Roxas’s pilfered blanket. Axel brushed the pads of his fingers in a smooth crescent against Roxas’s undereyes, rubbing the last of his tears away.
Roxas’s sky-blue eyes met Axel’s, searching for the truth they contained. “When you look at me, do you just see Sora? Or do you think of me mostly as Ventus?” His heart pleaded with Axel, terrified that maybe the love that existed in Axel’s soul was meant more for something else, that he was an afterthought, a ghost in the way of another. “Do you hate me for what Vanitas has done?”
Axel pet Roxas on his head, through his hair, shaking his head. “I see all of you. I love all of you, all the same.”
“How?” Roxas asked.
“How couldn’t I?” Axel laughed, fondly remembering over a decade of the time they’d shared. “I’m yours with all that I am. And you’re mine with all that you are. All of you.”
His words were like honey, the most precious sort of gift that Roxas could hear forever and still consider himself lucky. He couldn’t stop the tears from pouring now, but he felt safe.
“It’s okay.” Axel smiled softly. “I’m with you. I’ll help you.”
Axel took Roxas’s chin and titled it upwards so that he could look him straight in the eyes. His expression was calm, serene, full of affection.
“It’s alright, Roxas. I love you no matter who you are. I love all of you. I’ll never leave you.”
Roxas leaned into Axel’s peaceful caresses, feeling peace wash over him. Even if he didn’t know his place in this world, Axel was his home.
“I love you too.” Roxas felt so confident in those feelings, more than anything else. They kissed. “So much.”
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