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shortnspidey · 6 days ago

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FLIGHT RISK

Jake Seresin X Female!reader || WC: 9.7K

SUMMARY: Jake "Hangman" Seresin had a reputation for flirting with anything that breathed, which is exactly why you never paid him much attention whenever the Dagger Squad rolled into the Hard Deck. But the more time you spend around him, the more you realize he’s not the arrogant jerk you assumed he was. Against all odds, you fall for him, hard. So when you suddenly start pulling away, Jake can't help but wonder what he did wrong.

WARNINGS: One-sided miscommunication, angst, self-deprecating thoughts, implied daddy issues, jealousy, fluff, cursing, platonic reader x Dagger Squad, lovesick!Jake, making out, probably some inaccurate military details (sorry)!

A/N: Literally hated his character when I first watched the movie, yet the more I watch edits and read fanfiction the more this man has grown on me... which is how this came about. Hope y'all enjoy! Divider by @thecutestgrotto <3

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The Hard Deck was buzzing as it usually was on a Friday night. You and Penny moved in perfect sync behind the bar, dodging each other with practiced ease as the room filled with the clamor of laughter, clinking bottles, and the low hum of music from the jukebox in the corner. The scent of citrus and salt clung to your skin, your fingers sticky from pouring whiskey sours and popping lime wedges into beers.

You wiped your hands on a towel tucked into your apron, catching Penny’s eye just as she slid a beer down to a waiting customer. Penny leaned in as she wiped down the bar, eyes flicking toward the entrance. “They’re here.” She murmured, barely suppressing a grin. You didn’t need to ask who. The sound of boots scuffing the floor and the unmistakable blend of egos and energy meant only one thing: The Dagger Squad, fresh off another brutal day of training.

Maverick must’ve put them through hell, judging by the way Bradley dragged his hand through his hair like he might tear it out. Natasha looked like she was already plotting revenge, and Mickey was slumped against the pool table like gravity had it out for him personally. “They look like death.” You noted, already lining up glasses. Penny smirked. “Except for a certain blonde who’s looking at you like you’re his reward for surviving it.”

You threw her a dry look, but heat bloomed at the back of your neck. “You’re imagining things.” Penny rolled her eyes, nudging you with her elbow. “Oh, sure, I must be also imagining the way you check your lip gloss every time he walks in.” You snorted and turned away to hide your smirk, reaching for the tequila. “God, you’re even worse than Amelia.” Penny raised an eyebrow. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

The squad fanned out across the pool tables, dropping into their usual spots with groans and exaggerated sighs. Bradley clinked his dog tags against the counter like a bell, while Natasha stretched out her shoulders and grumbled something about Maverick trying to kill them. And then, right on cue, Jake Seresin. He swaggered in a few beats behind the rest, as if the doors themselves had waited for his entrance.

His hair was a little messy, his skin kissed by the sun, dog tags catching the low light as they swung against his collarbone. He moved like he owned the room, like he’d fought gravity and won. But you knew better now. He’d fooled you once. That cocky smile, that drawl, that insufferable nickname, Hangman. You’d pegged him for exactly the kind of man who flirted with anything that moved and forgot the names of anyone who didn’t. So you ignored him.

Every night he came in, you barely spared him a glance. And every night, he tried again. But Jake didn’t win you over with charm. He won you with patience. When your car wouldn’t start after a long shift and you were ready to scream into the night, he appeared, hands in his pockets, smile soft. No teasing, no smug remarks. Just a quiet offer to take a look. Thirty minutes later, he had it running again. He didn’t ask for anything in return.

He started walking you to your car after closing, no pressure, no flirting. Just company. And then he started showing up on your off days. Not in uniform. Not with the squad. Just Jake. He’d sit at the bar, nursing a soda or a single beer, and talk to you while you cut garnishes or cleaned glasses. He asked about your family. Your hometown. Whether you liked working nights or if you ever thought about leaving the beach behind.

He never made it about himself, not at first. And when he finally did, it was different. One night, long after the bar had emptied, you found him leaning against the jukebox, staring at the floor like it had personally offended him. “My dad never thought I’d amount to much,” He murmured when you passed him. “Guess part of me still tries to prove him wrong.” You’d stopped in your tracks. That was the moment something cracked. Not in him, in you.

Because behind all that swagger, Jake Seresin was carrying something heavy. Something private. And he trusted you enough to let you see it. That was when you started falling. It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t sudden. It was slow. Unavoidable. A creeping warmth that found its way under your skin and settled there. So now, as Jake leaned across the bar, sweat-damp and sun-touched from a long day of dogfights, you didn’t feel annoyance anymore. You felt fear.

Because you’d let him in. Because he wasn’t who you thought he was. Because he looked at you like you were more than just a bartender, and you weren’t sure what to do with that. “Evenin’, darlin’.” His voice dropped low into that familiar Southern drawl, thick like honey and rough at the edges, and it sent goosebumps skittering down your spine before you could stop them. Jake leaned one elbow against the bar, casual as ever, but his presence was anything but forgettable.

Sunlight from the open doors caught in his windswept hair, and sweat still clung to the base of his throat. Those hypnotic green eyes, greener tonight under the warm, flickering lights, swept over your face with the same lazy intensity they always did, as if he were memorizing you every time. You arched a brow, letting your hands stay busy with the shaker. The clink of ice helped mask the fact that your heartbeat had kicked up a notch. “You look like Maverick dragged you through a jet wash.”

Jake’s grin curled slow, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. There was an edge in them, subtle, but there. Maybe it was exhaustion. Maybe it was something else. “He sure as hell tried,” He muttered, rolling his shoulder with a wince that was half hidden. “But it’s nothin’ I can’t handle.” You slid a cold beer across the polished wood without looking up, but your fingers brushed his for half a second longer than they should have.

His hand was warm, calloused and steady, and instead of pulling away, he lingered. Just a breath longer. Just enough to make your skin tingle where he touched you. You hated that it made your pulse skip. Hated it even more that he seemed to know exactly what it did to you. Jake gave you that heartbreaker wink before peeling away to join the others, the beer already raised in a half-salute. “Thanks, sweetheart.”

You watched him walk, shoulders still squared from the cockpit, tags clinking lightly against his chest, and tried not to let your eyes linger too long. Penny had, of course, seen all of it. As she restocked the limes with a knowing look, one perfectly sculpted brow lifted in dry amusement. “You keep looking at him like that,” She murmured, voice low as she tossed a handful of garnishes into a silver tray. “He’s gonna think that you actually like him.”

“He already thinks that.” You rolled your eyes, mostly to distract from the flutter blooming in your chest. “Because you do,” She countered without missing a beat, slicing through a lemon with precision. “Might as well admit it before you combust.” You didn’t answer. Not because she was wrong, but because she wasn’t. And you hated how easily she saw through you. The truth was… you did like him. Too much. In ways you didn’t want to admit out loud.

Jake Seresin had wormed his way past your sarcasm and rolled eyes and cool indifference like it was nothing. And the scariest part? He hadn’t even tried that hard. “I’ll be right back.” You muttered, grabbing five beers from the cooler and sliding them onto a tray with practiced ease. You tucked a cold can of Coca-Cola into the front pocket of your apron, Bob’s usual, always sipped with quiet contentment while the others knocked back drinks like they were on shore leave. Penny caught the gesture and smirked.

“Go get your man.” You didn’t dignify her with a reply. Just rolled your eyes and turned on your heel, weaving between the crowds with practiced grace, the tray balanced effortlessly in your hands. But your stomach flipped all the same, traitorous and fluttering, because the moment your eyes found Jake again, laughing with Bradley. And you weren’t sure how long you could pretend you weren’t. Taking a deep breath, and squaring your shoulders you shook those thoughts from your head.

“You all look like you could use a pick-me-up.” Every head at the table turned toward you, some sluggishly, others like your voice alone had jolted them back to life. “A beer for you,” You chirped, placing the cold glass in front of Mickey, who looked like he’d barely survived the day. His forehead rested on the edge of the table until he forced himself upright. “You’re an angel.” He groaned, already reaching for the glass like it might bring him back from the dead.

“And a Coke for you.” You placed the soda down with a satisfying clink in front of Bob, who was seated slightly off to the side, content with his quiet corner and a half-eaten bowl of peanuts. His cheeks turned pink as he straightened his glasses and smiled shyly. “For my favorite WSOs.” You added with a playful wink. Both men flushed under your gaze and responded with a thank you, in perfect unison.

You kept moving, passing out drinks with ease and affection. Natasha muttered something about you being a godsend as she reached for her beer, lifting it in a silent toast before taking a long, grateful sip. Rooster gave you a wink and a crooked smile that probably worked on half of San Diego, though it never really had an effect on you. Javy nodded with an appreciative grin, and Reuben gave you a friendly fist-bump.

“For my favorite pilots.” You teased, grinning as you finally came to rest beside Natasha. She leaned her head onto your shoulder with a contented sigh, her hair brushing against your cheek. “Marry me.” She mumbled, half-serious, half-drunk on exhaustion. Before you could even talk, a familiar voice, smooth, smug, and laced with that Southern twang, broke the silence. “That’s just cruel,” Jake drawled. “I thought I was your favorite.”

Your head turned before you could stop yourself. And just like that, your heart didn’t just skip a beat, it slammed into your ribs like it was trying to break free. Jake stood at the pool table, cue stick in hand, body bent low as he lined up a shot. His back arched just enough to make your mouth go dry. His biceps flexed as he adjusted his grip, veins prominent, forearms corded with strength. His khakis clung low on his hips, his flight belt hanging lazily from a loop.

He looked ridiculous. Unfair. Like he’d walked straight out of a damn recruiting ad, but dirtier. Infinitely more dangerous. Jake’s head lifted slowly, eyes cutting toward you from beneath those long lashes. The corner of his mouth tugged into a smirk when he caught you looking. Caught staring. “You wound me, sweetheart,” He added, standing to his full height. “All that charm, and I don’t even rank in your top five?”

You masked your thudding heart with a dry laugh. “I said favorite pilots,” You shot back. “Didn’t say anything about most high-maintenance.” The squad erupted in low chuckles, a few of them tossing mock “oofs” in Jake’s direction. Jake only grinned, unbothered, sauntering toward the group with that same easy swagger that made it impossible to tell whether he was teasing or flirting, or both. You forced yourself to look away, turning back toward the tray.

Yet, your stomach was doing somersaults, and the heat creeping up your neck wasn’t from the warm summer air drifting through the doors. You leaned your hip against the edge of the table, tray balanced on one hand, the soft clink of glass against wood fading into the background as you glanced around the table. Everyone looked a little less dead now, drinks in hand, shoulders relaxing bit by bit. “Do I need to talk to Maverick for all of you?” You teased, eyes flicking from one exhausted pilot to the next.

Bradley groaned loud enough to turn heads. “Please do. Tell him we're human. Or at least that some of us are.” Natasha scoffed, lifting her beer toward her mouth with a half-glare, half-laugh. “We were human. Until Mr. Hotshot over there decided he could outfly Mav.” All eyes slid toward Jake. “Okay, whoa. Let’s not point fingers here.” He was already making a face. “You tried to buzz Maverick,” Mickey interjected, half-leaning across the table with animated hands. “In a tight turn. In a no-fly zone.”

“And missed.” Reuben added between mouthfuls of peanuts, a smug grin spreading across his face. Jake raised both hands, feigning innocence with the precision of someone who’d practiced. “I wasn’t trying to buzz him. I was maneuvering. Strategically.” Javy snorted covering it up with a cough as he received a glare from Jake. “And we all got punished for it,” Bob chimed in quietly, lifting his Coke as if to toast to their shared suffering. “One hundred push-ups.” You winced at his words, that sounded brutal.

“In flight suits.” Reuben groaned, rubbing his shoulder like the soreness was still setting in. You clamped a hand over your mouth to stifle your laughter, the image forming vividly in your mind, Jake, cocky as ever, probably smirking even as Maverick made them drop. The others glaring daggers at him while dripping sweat onto the tarmac. Jake, of course, leaned into the attention with no shame. “You’re welcome, push-ups build character.” He grinned, sliding into the empty chair beside you with smooth ease.

You barely had time to register the motion before his arm draped over the back of your chair, knuckles grazing your shoulder. “You’re lucky they didn’t bury you under the tarmac.” Natasha muttered, but her lips twitched. Jake leaned a little closer, the heat of his body now radiating into your side. His voice dropped a note, low and velvety. “You know, I think I could use a little personal motivation to recover from today.” Your breath caught before you could control it.

His fingers brushed lightly against the bare skin of your upper arm as they “accidentally” adjusted across the tables edge. You turned toward him, ready to make some smart remark, maybe put him back in his place before he got too cocky again, but your gaze collided with his, and just like that… you froze. His eyes weren’t just green, they were alive with something deeper. Mischief, sure. But behind it, a flicker of something that made your stomach swoop. Like he wasn’t just teasing you tonight. He was waiting.

“Jake—”

“Y/N!” Your name snapped through the air like a whip, pulling you back to earth. You turned sharply toward the bar where Penny stood, waving a bar rag like a battle flag. “Bus just pulled up, I need you.” You groaned under your breath but moved fast, peeling yourself away from the table. Jake’s arm slid off your shoulders with a warmth that lingered longer than it should have, his fingers brushing your back as you stood. The moment broke, but not before you caught the small smirk tugging at his lips.

He knew exactly what he was doing.

“Try not to cause anymore trouble while I’m gone.” You grabbed the empty tray and backed away from the table, shaking your head. “No promises, sweetheart!” He called after you, voice lazy, teasing. But his eyes, they lingered. Watching you like a man who knew the exact altitude you’d started falling. You spun on your heel and disappeared behind the bar, pulse still hammering, trying to remind yourself that you were here to work.

But even as Penny tossed you a bar towel and pointed toward the flood of sailors crowding toward the taps, all you could think about was the warmth of Jake’s body next to yours, and how dangerously easy it would be to let yourself fall. Thankfully, the flood of newcomers provided the perfect excuse to busy your hands and bury your thoughts. You moved, mixing cocktails with quick flicks of the wrist, pouring beers until foam kissed the rim, sliding credit cards back with a polite nod and a practiced smile.

Every small task became a wall, something to hide behind. Something to keep your mind off of Jake. Or at least, that’s what you told yourself. As the crowd dwindled and the bar quieted into a low murmur, the shield began to crack. The last round of locals had migrated toward the dartboard. The jukebox slowed to soft rock. A few scattered voices still rose in laughter near the back where the Dagger Squad remained, sunburnt, beer-drowsy and content.

You peeled off your apron with a sigh and glanced at Penny, who gave you a reassuring nod and a knowing smile, motioning for you to take a breath, take a break. Your feet moved before your heart could object. You stepped out from behind the bar, every movement purposeful, steady, because if you hesitated, you knew the ache lingering just beneath your ribs might crawl up into your throat and give you away. You smoothed a hand down your shirt and walked toward the group, fully prepared to ask if they wanted one more round before last call. But then you heard it.

Jake’s voice.

Clear. Familiar. Cruel. Coated with disgust. “I just cannot stand her.” The words stopped you mid-step, your sneakers suddenly glued to the hardwood floor. The air left your lungs in one cold rush, and your feet carried you just far enough to place yourself behind the wooden beam beside the jukebox, half-hidden in the low light, half-ashamed for eavesdropping, but too frozen to move. “She walks around following me like a puppy, flirting, even her voice is annoying.”

Your pulse thudded in your ears, louder than the low hum of music, louder than the clatter of a dropped glass in the far corner. His voice cut straight through you, each syllable like a shard of glass. “She just doesn’t get the hint. I’m not interested in girls like her.” The blood drained from your face. You knew it. God, deep down, you always knew it. Jake Seresin was never going to want someone like you.

You’d seen the women he flirted with, tall, perfectly made-up, curves in all the right places, confident, playful, bright in the way that lit up a whole room. You? You were just the bartender. The convenience. The friend. The joke. The girl with rough hands from long shifts. The girl who hid behind sarcasm because confidence never came easy. The girl who, despite everything, had let herself believe, hope, that the way Jake looked at you sometimes meant something real. A dull ache bloomed in your chest. You pressed your hand against it like that would stop it from spreading.

At least now you knew. At least now the daydream could die. Now you could stop pretending. You swallowed down the lump clawing its way up your throat, nails digging into your palm as you pivoted, quick, silent and fast, back toward the bar. You didn’t even bother pretending to smile. Didn’t care who saw your glassy eyes or the way your breath came out shaky as you ripped the apron from its hook and slung it over the counter.

Penny turned, concern flickering across her face clearly noticing the entire shift in your demeanor, but you simply waved her off with a weak motion and a whispered goodbye. Not trusting your voice to hold steady. Not trusting her not to ask. If she so much as asked if you were okay, you’d break. You were out the door before Jake could even glance up. Before he could offer that sweet, mocking drawl. Before he could try to walk you to your car like he always did, like it meant something. Your heart couldn't take it. Not now. Not after that.

Back at the bar, Jake still reclined in the chair, nursing the same beer he hadn’t touched in ten minutes, finishing his train of thought with a huff. “I just hope Mav doesn’t put her on our training rotation again,” He muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ve told her time and time again I’m not interested,” He continued with a groan. “She just doesn’t get the hint that she’s not my type.” Mickey nearly choked on his drink.

“Yeah, Hangman, we all know what girl is your type.” He grinned, elbowing Bob. Bradley leaned in, all smugness and raised brows. “The pretty bartender you make eyes at every time she’s near? The one you nearly punched me over for breathing near last week?” Jake froze. Bradley tilted his beer toward him, that smirk spreading. “The one you pretend not to care about, then sulk like a teenager when she walks away with anyone else?” Javy whistled. “Dude, just admit it. You’re into her. Bad.”

Jake ran a hand over his face, jaw tightening. “Shut up before she hears you.” But as he turned to glance toward the bar, expecting to find you rolling your eyes behind the counter, maybe catching his gaze just long enough to blush, his brows drew together. You weren’t there. Your station was empty. No apron. No sarcastic smile. No parting wave. Just… gone. His chest tightened without reason. You never left without saying goodnight.

A flicker of unease passed through him, but the others were still laughing, throwing teasing comments like darts, unaware of the sudden shift in his expression. He forced a grin, let the moment pass. But something inside him knew. Something felt wrong. And you, already halfway down the boardwalk with tears blurring your vision, didn’t get to hear the rest. Didn’t get to hear the way his voice softened when he talked about you.

You were cautious, careful, even. Every move you made around him became intentional. Guarded. Since that night, since the moment his words gutted you like a blade between the ribs, you’d started pulling away. Not all at once. No. That would’ve been too obvious. And despite the ache still lodged in your chest like a stone, you refused to let Jake, or anyone else, see you unravel. Instead, it was subtle. Gradual. A slow withdrawal masked as busyness, exhaustion, distraction.

When Jake came to the bar now, you didn’t linger. You took his order without looking him in the eye, handed him his beer with a polite smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. No teasing remark. No small talk. Just efficient, impersonal service. The kind you gave to strangers. The kind you gave to men you didn’t want to know. And you definitely didn’t allow his touch to linger, not that he’d had much chance.

Gone were the moments where his fingers brushed yours over a glass, or the way his hand would rest at the small of your back when you passed too close. You kept distance now. Measured it. Maintained it like it was a lifeline. You didn’t let him close. And Jake? He noticed. At first, it was subtle confusion. A longer-than-usual pause when you walked away. A look that lingered too long as you joked with Bob or nudged Natasha’s shoulder with a grin that used to be his.

Then it turned into something else, hesitation, maybe even hurt, though if it was, he didn’t show it outright. Luckily, or maybe tragically, the squad had been kept busy by Maverick all week. Long hours on the tarmac. Briefings that dragged past sunset. Extra sims, surprise drills, and mock dogfights that left them sore, sweating, and barely able to keep their eyes open when they dragged themselves into the Hard Deck each night. It gave you an excuse.

To work the bar, serve the drinks, and disappear behind orders before Jake could try and ask what was wrong. It was easier this way. Safer. You told yourself it would fade, the sting, the weight in your chest, the memory of hearing her voice is annoying and I’m not interested in girls like her whispered in that same drawl that used to melt you. But it didn’t fade. It stayed. Like smoke in your lungs.

You heard it in the silence after your shift when the beach was quiet and the waves were the only sound. You felt it in the ache behind your ribs when someone mentioned his name in passing. You even dreamed about it, twisting memories into warped versions where his words echoed again and again, his face turned away from you, laughter in his throat while you stood invisible behind the jukebox. You hated how much it hurt.

You hated that it still mattered.

The fifth night after it happened, the bar was quieter than usual, just a slow Thursday, a break between storms. You were stacking clean glasses behind the bar when Jake walked in alone. No squad. No backup. Just him. He looked tired. Disheveled in a way that felt different than post-training exhaustion. Like he hadn’t been sleeping much. His hair was messier than usual, shirt a little wrinkled, tags tucked into his collar like they were suddenly too heavy to wear out in the open.

You felt his eyes on you the second he stepped through the door. You didn’t look up. You couldn’t. He approached the bar slower than normal, his boots echoing too loudly in the now-quiet space. You busied yourself with organizing lemons. Limes. Anything not him. He stopped a few feet short of the bar. Didn’t speak. Not right away. Finally, his voice broke the silence, low, cautious, unsure. “You alright?” You kept your gaze focused on the citrus you were already over-slicing. “Fine.”

“You’ve been distant.” He murmured, like he was still trying to piece it together. “Did I do something?” You shrugged. Cool. Detached. “Just tired, Jake.” A lie. But he didn’t push. He just studied you, jaw working slightly like he was chewing on whatever thoughts were flooding in. “Right,” He said eventually, voice quieter. “Of course.” You turned to put the knife down, finally meeting his eyes for a split second. And it nearly undid you.

Because Jake wasn’t smirking. He wasn’t cocky. He looked…confused. A little wounded. The way someone does when they’ve lost their grip on something they didn’t even know they were holding. But you couldn’t tell him the truth. You couldn’t admit that the thing you’d overheard, the words that weren’t meant for your ears, had unraveled you completely. Because what if you were the only one who misunderstood?

What if, worse… you hadn't? So you turned away. Left him standing there with his fingers curled slightly over the edge of the bar, like he wasn’t sure whether to stay or walk away. Jake didn’t push. He never did. But that didn’t mean he didn’t notice. And tonight, you knew he’d felt it, that little bit of space you’d suddenly started putting between the two of you. Because if he kept getting closer, you wouldn’t just fall.

You’d crash.

The days blurred. Long shifts, short sleep, aching feet, and a heart you couldn’t seem to quiet. You kept your rhythm sharp, precise, like it was armor. You showed up, moved through the motions, mixed drinks, gave smiles, told stories to sailors who needed a little kindness. And avoided Jake Seresin like he was a fault line waiting to break beneath your feet. You weren’t cold. Just distant. Detached in a way that made you feel like you were watching your life from the outside in.

It didn’t go unnoticed. Late one night, the bar winding down into a lazy hum, Penny passed you a glass of water and leaned her elbows onto the bar. You felt her gaze before she spoke, quiet, steady, knowing. “You alright, Y/N?” You didn’t look at her. Just nodded, wiping down a spill that didn’t need wiping. “I’m fine.” It was clipped. Dismissive. Enough to signal that the door was closed. You had mastered the lies and excuses, yet Penny wasn’t stupid.

She knew you like the back of her hand. She watched you for a few seconds longer, watched the way your eyes didn’t meet hers, the way your fingers trembled slightly when you reached for the towel. She gave a tiny, imperceptible sigh, then pushed away without pressing no matter how much she wanted to know what was wrong with you. Safe to say, you were grateful for it. Because if she had asked again, your walls might’ve just cracked.

Jake wasn’t doing any better. After your "talk", if you could even call it that, he’d been a wreck. Not the kind anyone outside the Dagger Squad would immediately notice. No, Jake Seresin still smiled at the rookies. Still strutted across the tarmac with his usual confidence, boots scuffing against the concrete, sunglasses low on his nose like he didn’t have a care in the world. But those who knew him best could see the cracks forming.

The way he flinched when your name was mentioned. The way he scanned the bar every time he walked into the Hard Deck, hoping, praying, that this would be the night you looked at him like you used to, eyes soft, smirk tucked behind your lip, leaning on the bar like you were daring him to flirt first. But that look never came. And it was driving him insane. Even in the air, his escape, his safe place, he felt off. Slower. Sloppy in a way that set off alarm bells in every seasoned pilot’s gut.

His reaction times were lagging, the sharp, lethal precision that earned him the call sign Hangman dulled under the weight of something heavier than G-forces. Natasha had picked up on it immediately. “You’re flying like you’ve got a piano strapped to your back,” She muttered through comms one afternoon after a sim run went sideways. “The hell’s going on with you?” Jake’s jaw had locked so tight, he didn’t even answer. Back on the ground, it was no better.

Bradley had cornered him near the locker room the next morning. “You’re off, you look like you haven’t slept in weeks.” He told him bluntly. Jake ran a hand through his hair, matted from the helmet. “I’m fine.” Even he didn’t believe the words coming out of his mouth. “You’re not.” Jake simply shrugged. “Let it go, Rooster.” But they didn’t. Not really. They just watched. Waited. Wondered what the hell had happened that turned cocky, unshakable Jake Seresin into a man unraveling from the inside out.

What they didn’t know, what he wouldn’t dare say aloud, was that it was you. The problem was you, or more accurately, the way you’d slipped through his fingers before he even realized how tightly he’d been trying to hold on. He didn’t understand it. How things had gone from warm glances and shared touches and that night where you had almost let something real slip between you… to now. To this cold distance. Where you wouldn’t so much as look at him unless it was absolutely necessary. And the worst part?

He didn’t know what he’d done.

The nights dragged on like this. Jake would come in with the squad, sit down like nothing was wrong, but the light in his eyes was gone. His jokes were duller. His smirk half-hearted. Even his beer sat untouched longer than usual, condensation dripping down the bottle as he watched you move around the bar like a ghost he couldn’t reach. Sometimes, he’d almost say something. His hand would twitch, or he’d lean half out of his seat, like he was on the verge of getting up.

Of walking over. Of fixing it. But you never gave him the chance. You never looked long enough to invite it. A deep, sinking pull in his gut. Like something was breaking open inside him and he didn’t know how to stop it. And so the distance remained, a thick, aching thing that hovered between you both, invisible to everyone else but suffocating just the same. Neither of you said a word. Neither of you walked away. But neither of you dared to move closer, either.

And it was killing you both.

Four days later, the Hard Deck was full, buzzing with heat and voices and that low, salty tension that clung to late summer nights on the coast. Dagger Squad was there, scattered across their usual pool table. Jake wasn’t with them yet. And for once, you were thankful. You could breathe without feeling his eyes track your every move. Or so you thought. You were behind the bar when you saw her walk in. Tall. Glossy.

Designer jeans that clung perfectly to her long legs and a strappy black tank that dipped low in the back. Blonde hair curled, nails perfect, and a walk like she owned every pair of eyes in the room. You recognized her instantly, one of the women you’d seen Jake flirt with a few times before. Only this time… she wasn’t looking at you. She was looking for him. And then, like a movie in slow motion, Jake walked in. He hadn’t seen her yet.

He was laughing with Bradley, dragging a hand through his hair, unaware of the way her eyes locked on him like a target. She moved toward him with purpose, lips already curling into a smile, like she knew he’d be hers the second he looked up. Your chest constricted so sharply it almost knocked the air out of your lungs. You turned away fast, heart hammering like you’d been punched. God. You were such an idiot. What were you expecting? That he’d pine over you?

That he’d choose you over someone like that? You braced your hands on the edge of the bar, the stainless steel biting into your palms. Don’t cry. Don’t cry here. Not in front of him. You grabbed two beers off the counter, trying to ground yourself in the moment. If she was what he wanted… fine. You weren’t going to compete for someone who’d already made their choice. But you could prove that he didn’t affect you anymore. At least, not on the surface.

So when you saw Bradley standing alone near the dartboard, you moved toward him without thinking, hips swaying just a touch more than usual, the corner of your mouth lifting in a practiced smirk. “Hey, Bradshaw,” You breathed as you passed him a beer, your fingers brushing his arm as you leaned close. “You winning?” He blinked, caught off guard by the softness in your tone, then chuckled low in his throat, catching on quickly. “I am now.” You laughed, light and teasing, and let your hand linger just long enough to be seen.

It wasn’t real. Not really. But it didn’t have to be. Not when Jake was watching. Because he was watching. Across the room, Jake's head snapped around the second he heard your voice. He’d been leaning against the bar, cornered by a girl with glossy lips and a laugh that grated on his nerves. She was touching his chest, twirling her straw between her fingers like a goddamn prop, but he hadn’t registered a single word she’d been saying.

Not since he walked in and saw you glowing in that golden Hard Deck light, laughing with everyone but him. But now? Now you were touching Rooster? His jaw clenched. There it was, that look. That flicker of heat buried deep in his eyes, something possessive and raw curling beneath his cool exterior. He was trying to keep it contained. Failing. You’d been giving him nothing but distance all week. Cold shoulders. Professional smiles.

And now you were here, cozying up to Bradley fucking Bradshaw, touching his arm like it meant something. Jake barely acknowledged the girl in front of him. Didn’t even glance her way when she laughed again, too loud, too fake. He stepped away like she wasn’t even there, a muscle ticking in his cheek as he moved. Fast. Direct. Heat rolling off him like the pavement in July. You tried to stay cool. Calm. Unbothered. But the second you felt him behind you, everything inside you began to splinter.

His shadow fell over you before his voice did, low and rough, like he was holding back something sharp. “Can we please talk?” No drawl. No swagger. Just those five words, spoken low enough for only you to hear. You turned slowly, lifting your gaze to meet his. And what you saw there made your throat go dry. His jaw was tight, lips pressed together like he couldn’t trust what might come out next. His breathing was shallow.

His chest rose and fell like he’d just finished a sprint. And his eyes, God, those eyes, were burning. Not with arrogance. Not even with anger. But with desperation. Desperation and hurt. Something cracked in your resolve. You'd spent days convincing yourself you didn’t care. That you were over it. Over him. That whatever you thought was between you had been imagined, one-sided. Stupid. But the way he was looking at you now? There was nothing one-sided about it. You hesitated. Your mouth didn’t move. But your heart answered for you.

You nodded.

And Jake exhaled like it was the first real breath he’d taken in days. Wordlessly, he led you outside to the back patio where the air was cooler, salt-stung and quieter than the inside. The string lights overhead glowed gold against the dark, and the music became just a dull vibration through the wood beneath your feet. Jake stopped near the railing, raking a hand through his hair like he didn’t know whether to speak or scream. His chest rose, then fell, like the effort to stay composed was costing him something.

“What the hell’s going on with you?” His voice wasn’t angry. It wasn’t even demanding. It was tired, frayed around the edges. You folded your arms across your chest, forcing your spine straight, your eyes sharp. “Nothing.” Jake scoffed. Harsh. Humorless. “Bullshit.” He stepped forward. “You’ve been avoiding me for days. You won't even look at me anymore.” You turned your face away, blinking too fast. The ache in your throat burned. “Maybe I’ve just been busy.” He exhaled through his nose, slower this time. “Did I do something?”

You wanted to scream. To shove the words into his chest and make him feel what you’d been carrying since that night. But fear twisted around your tongue like barbed wire. So you said nothing. Jake took a step closer. Slower now. Careful. Like you were something on the edge of shattering. And you hated it, hated how much you wanted him to reach out. To touch you. To say something that made it all make sense. “I—I heard what you said,” You whispered, voice thin and raw. His brow furrowed.

“That night. After training.” You swallowed hard. “You were talking to the squad. You said you weren’t interested. That I wasn’t your type.” A bitter laugh escaped your throat, hollow and trembling. “God, it’s my fault, really. I was stupid enough to believe that Jake Hangman Seresin, serial flirt, top gun, legendary pain in the ass, would ever want someone like me… when he could have Malibu Barbie throwing herself at him.” The words spilled out before you could catch them. Sharp. Bare. Bleeding.

Jake flinched. Confusion flashed first, wide-eyed, disoriented, then understanding slammed into him like a punch to the gut. “No,” He breathed, face paling, panic crashing behind his eyes. “You thought I was talking about you?” Your silence was answer enough. He stumbled back half a step, hands dragging down his face. Like he needed to wipe the guilt from his skin just to breathe. “Jesus Christ, Y/N.” His voice cracked. Rough. Gutted. “I wasn’t talking about you. God, no. I didn’t even know you were there.”

“Doesn’t matter.” You looked away, arms tightening around yourself like armor. “It does matter,” He snapped, voice raw. “You think I could ever, ever, talk about you like that?” His voice faltered, and he ran a shaking hand through his hair again, pacing once before turning back. “You think I’d look at you and say your voice is annoying? That I’m not interested? Are you serious?” You finally met his gaze, and what he saw nearly dropped him to his knees.

You weren’t angry. You were hurt. Really hurt. “I don’t think you meant to,” You whispered. “But you don't see me. You never do.” Jake looked like he’d been hit. The silence stretched, tangled between you, trembling and thick. Then he stepped closer. One step. Then another. His voice came softer now. Hoarse. Frightened. “I see you.” You shook your head. “I see you,” He repeated, louder this time, like if he said it enough it would finally reach you. “More than anyone ever has. And it scares the hell out of me.”

Your lips parted. A sound escaped, half-breath, half-sob, and the first tear slipped free before you could stop it. You turned your face away, but his hand lifted, gently brushing the drop from your cheek like it hurt him to see it. He hesitated, fingers twitching near yours, unsure if he was allowed. Then, with a breathless whisper, “Darlin’… I don’t want Malibu Barbie in there,” You blinked brows drawing in confusion. His hand hovered near yours, trembling.

“I want you. The girl who makes Rooster blush. The one who doesn’t back down when I flirt, who gives it right back. Who knows when I’m lying through my teeth even when I don’t.” He reached again, this time slower, curling his hand around yours like it was sacred. Like letting go would ruin him. To his surprise, you let him. You didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull away. His fingers threaded through yours like they belonged there, like they’d always belonged there. And God help you… they did.

You were silent for a long time. Then, finally, so quiet it almost wasn’t real, you spoke pushing past the lump in your throat. “I thought I wasn’t enough.” Jake’s heart cracked clean in two. “You’re everything,” He whispered. “Everything, Y/N." Jake’s thumb brushed over the back of your hand like he couldn’t stop touching you now that you’d let him. His gaze was locked on yours, open in a way you’d never seen before, no walls, no smirk, no cocky bravado. Just Jake. Real. Unfiltered. Bleeding.

“I’ve been gone for you since the day you rolled your eyes at me instead of blushing.” You blinked, caught off guard. He huffed a breath that might’ve been a laugh if it weren’t so wrecked. “I flirted. God, I poured it on. You remember? That night I tried to buy you a drink and you told me to grow up and learn how to pour my own?” A reluctant smile tugged at your mouth. “You called me a heartbreaker.” You whispered recalling the moment as if it were yesterday. “Because you were,” He whispered, voice cracking just slightly.

“You are.” You swallowed, hard, but he didn’t stop. “I kept telling myself I just liked the chase. That I could move on. That you were just another pretty face behind the bar, except—” He shook his head, jaw tightening. “You’re not.” Your brows knit, but you didn’t look away. “I told you about my dad.” Jake’s voice dropped, softer now. “I didn’t even realize I’d done it until after. I’ve never talked about him. Not to anyone. Not like that.” The memory came back instantly. That night after last call, lights dimmed, your elbows resting on the bar between you.

He’d looked so tired, so open. You’d asked one small question, something about his hometown, and suddenly he was talking about Texas and silence and a man who never really told his son he was proud. Jake stared at you now, breathing hard like he was barely holding himself together. “You didn’t say anything when I told you. You just… listened.” He looked down, eyes catching on your joined hands. “You let me be someone I don’t let anyone see.” He swallowed. “I noticed everything about you, Y/N.” Your lips parted, but nothing came out.

“I know you hate wearing your hair down when you’re working because it sticks to your lip gloss and drives you crazy. I know you pretend to be annoyed when Bob leaves peanut shells on the bar, but you never actually throw them away until after he leaves, because you don’t want to make him feel bad.” Your eyes stung. His voice was reverent now, like he was listing truths he’d memorized like scripture. “I know you tie your apron the same way every night, double knot on the left, even though you’re right-handed,"

"You hum when you count cash. You clench your jaw when you’re about to cry and you never cry in front of people, and—” He exhaled, blinking fast. “I know how it felt. That night you sat beside me after training, shoulder to shoulder, not talking much.” He was close now. Closer than before. “I replay that night more than I want to admit,” Jake murmured. “The way your knee brushed mine and you didn’t move it. The way you leaned into me without even realizing it. I wanted to grab your hand so bad, but I was scared it’d ruin it. Scared you’d pull away.”

You hadn’t realized your breath had hitched until he reached up, gently tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. “I’m not scared now.” You were blinking back tears. “I was falling for you then,” He breathed, thumb brushing the edge of your jaw. “And I’ve just kept falling. Every damn day. Even when you stopped talking to me. Even when it felt like you were slipping through my fingers and I didn’t know why.” His voice dropped to something trembling and soft. “You’re it for me, Y/N."

"The real thing. No games. No stupid lines. Just you.” You opened your mouth and closed it. Shaking your head, just slightly. “But I’m not your type.” You whispered, voice thick with emotion. Jake smiled, and it wrecked you. “Darlin’,” He coaxed, stepping even closer, pressing your joined hands gently against his chest. “You are every type I didn’t know I needed. You’re the only girl I’ve ever wanted to stay for.” Your heart was a drumbeat in your throat. Jake leaned in, breath warm and uneven between you.

“I want late nights on this patio with you. I want to sit on your kitchen counter while you complain about your day and steal your snacks. I want you in my bed. In my arms. In my life. All of it. You.” The tears spilled freely now. “I don’t want Malibu Barbie, or any of those girls who laugh at jokes I didn’t even tell. I want the girl who saw straight through me before I even knew who I was.” Your fingers clutched his shirt now, knuckles white. Jake leaned his forehead gently against yours, voice barely a whisper now.

“I love you, Y/N.”

The words hung there, raw, open, real. And for the first time in weeks, the ache in your chest lifted. Because he meant it. And he’d never looked more terrified… or more certain. Your breath caught. There it was, laid bare between you. His heart, stripped and beating in your hands. Jake Seresin, the man everyone thought was untouchable, cocky, invincible was standing here, terrified. Loving you with everything he had. For the first time in weeks, the fear that had been curling like smoke in your chest started to ease.

But it didn’t vanish. Because you were still scared. Not of him. Of you. Of how badly you wanted this. How deeply you felt it. How vulnerable it made you to need someone this much. You lifted your head slowly, his forehead still resting lightly against yours, your breaths mingling in the salt-tinged air. “I love you too Jake.” You whispered, and it cracked something open inside both of you. His eyes squeezed shut as he let out a slow, unsteady breath, like he’d been drowning, and those words were the air he’d needed for weeks.

“But I’m scared,” You admitted, your voice trembling, fingers still clutching his shirt. “Scared that this is just a moment. That you’ll wake up one day and realize I’m not what you want. That I’ll never be enough.” Jake opened his eyes, and the look on his face made your chest cave in. There was no hesitation. No uncertainty. Just devotion. He cupped your face like you were something fragile but precious, like he was honored just to hold you. “Y/N…” He breathed, stepping even closer, until your body was flush against his.

“I’m gonna spend every damn second we have proving just how wrong that voice in your head is. Every second.” You blinked fast, your heart pounding against your ribs like it was trying to reach him. “I’ll show you,” He whispered, thumb sweeping along your cheek. “Not just once. Not just tonight. Every day. I’ll show you in the mornings, when you’re grumpy and still half-asleep and stealing the covers. I’ll show you when you’re mad at me, and I’ll deserve it, but I’ll still be there, because I’m not going anywhere.” He kissed the corner of your mouth, just barely.

Like he didn’t want to overwhelm you, only remind you he was there. “I’ll show you when things get hard. When I have a bad day, and you have worse, and we’re tired and angry and still choosing each other anyway. That’s love, darlin’. And I’ve got it bad for you.” Your breath hitched, and your hands came up to grip his forearms. “I’ll prove it in every single look, every word, every time I hold your hand or brush your hair behind your ear or make you laugh after a long shift,” He murmured.

“I’ll remind you that you’re it for me. You’ve always been it.” The tears returned, but this time they came softer. You looked at him through the blur, voice nearly lost. “What if I fall even harder?” Jake smiled, gently resting his forehead against yours again. “Then I’ll be there to catch you. Every damn time.” You didn’t mean to lean in first. Maybe it was the look in his eyes, wild with devotion, soft with fear. Maybe it was the way he said you’re everything like it was the simplest truth in the world.

Maybe it was just that you couldn’t take it anymore, the aching distance, the space you’d both been tiptoeing around for too long. But suddenly your lips were on his. It was slow, searching. Like you were both discovering what it meant to be held this close by someone who knew you, who had seen you, in the mess, in the fear, in the fire, and chose you anyway. Jake let out a broken breath against your mouth.

Like he’d been waiting for this moment longer than he wanted to admit, and kissed you like it might kill him not to. It started slow, trembling. His hands cradled your face with aching reverence, thumbs trembling slightly against your cheekbones. But the second your fingers curled into his shirt and your lips parted on a gasp, everything between you snapped, weeks of tension combusting all at once. He kissed you harder. Hungrier.

One hand slid into your hair, curling into your ponytail, while the other held your waist like he needed you closer. Like he couldn’t bear another second of space between you. His mouth moved against yours with heat and purpose, lips molding, tongue brushing yours, breath hitching as your bodies pressed together like magnets pulled tight. You whimpered softly against his mouth when he tilted his head and deepened the kiss, the sound swallowed by him as if he’d been starving for it.

He tasted like mint and beer and Jake, home, somehow, even in the chaos of it. Your teeth grazed, breath catching. Then your tongues slid together again and it was messy and warm and real. His hand fisted gently in your hair. You pulled him closer by the collar of his shirt, dizzy from how easily your body molded to his, how his chest rose and fell in stuttering exhales, like you were the only thing keeping him grounded. He kissed you like it was a promise.

And you kissed him like it was the first breath after drowning. Jake finally broke the kiss, gasping softly, but only just enough to press his forehead back to yours, breath mingling, both of you shaking. “Believe me now?” Jake grinned, the edges of his mouth still curved from that kiss, the one you were still trying to catch your breath from. He leaned in, nudging your nose with his playfully. Your lips twitched into a smile, still dazed. “It’s hard not to after a kiss like that.”

He chuckled low in his throat, the sound warm and rich, before dipping his head to press one last, lingering kiss to your lips, this one slower, softer, like a promise more than punctuation. “Come on,” He murmured against your mouth, hand already sliding into yours. “I want to show off my girl.” Your heart fluttered hard in your chest, giddy and unsteady. His girl. You could definitely get used to that. The two of you walked back toward the patio doors hand-in-hand, the cool ocean breeze still trailing behind you.

Jake was practically glowing, his grin wide, his shoulders relaxed in a way they hadn’t been in weeks. You could feel his thumb tracing slow circles against your knuckles as you walked, grounding you in the surrealness of the moment. As you stepped into the warm buzz of the Hard Deck, the shift in the room was instant. Bradley let out a long, low whistle, raising his beer. “Well, finally.” You flushed instantly, heat crawling up your neck as Natasha gave you a knowing grin from across the table. Even Penny was grinning from behind the bar, sharing a look like they’d known all along.

Jake didn’t even hesitate. Still beaming, he strolled right up to the squad’s table, pulled out an empty chair, and dropped into it without letting go of your hand. Before you could react, he tugged you gently down into his lap. You gasped, startled by the sudden PDA, hands bracing against his chest as he held you there, one arm wrapped around your waist like a vice, the other resting lazily on your thigh. His body was warm beneath you, solid and steady, and for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel like you had to hide.

Now that he had you, really had you, Jake Seresin clearly had absolutely no intention of letting go. The squad erupted in cheers and teasing jeers, beers clinking, boots scuffing against the wooden floor. But then something caught your eye. You watched, wide-eyed, as Mickey, Reuben, and Javy each reached into their wallets and started sliding bills across the table, straight into the waiting hands of Natasha and Bradley. “Hold on,” Jake barked, brows shooting up. “You assholes had a bet going?”

“Please. We’ve been placing bets since the second she didn’t slap you the first night.” Natasha leaned back smugly, counting her winnings with all the grace of a champion poker player. “I thought I heard someone say ‘by Valentine’s Day or bust.’” You muttered, staring at Bradley as he fanned out a crisp stack of twenties. Jake turned, brows raised in mock betrayal. “Bob.” You looked toward the quietest member of the group, who was sheepishly sliding a twenty toward Natasha, cheeks flaming.

“Not you too!” You gasped dramatically. “I-It was obvious.” He mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. “We were all just waiting for the two of you to stop being blind and realize you were already in love.” Mickey stayed matter-of-factly. Jake groaned, shaking his head with a dramatic flair. “Unbelievable.” But then he turned, eyes softening as he looked at you. “Well you’re right about one thing Fanboy, damn straight I love her.” He declared, suddenly and loudly.

His words were loud enough to carry over the music, his drawl curling around the words like honey. The table lost it, laughter exploding around you, but all you could do was stare at him, your cheeks burning, your heart thundering in your chest as he tugged you tighter into him, pressing his lips to your temple, warm and unashamed. And just over Jake’s shoulder, you caught a glimpse of the blonde from earlier, the one who’d been leaning against him when your heart had first started to break.

Her mouth twisted, her eyes narrowed. She scoffed, turned on her heel, and stormed out of the bar without so much as a backward glance. Only, Jake didn’t even see her leave. Because his focus was entirely on you. Not some bottle blonde who he didn’t know the name of. As you leaned back into his chest, the smell of salt and citrus and something utterly Jake wrapped around you like a memory, you realized you weren’t afraid anymore. Not of falling. Not of love. Not with him holding you like this, like he’d waited a lifetime to.

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starcurtain · 3 months ago

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Detangling Mydei's Backstories Backstory?

My last post, casting doubt on 3.2's revelation that Mydei's immortality is deliberate on his part, led to some interesting discussion in the comments that definitely reinforced my earlier thoughts that the inconsistencies in Mydei's backstory are too numerous to be accidental. Star Rail is not known for its flawless continuity (Robin and Sunday's backstory, I'm looking at you lol), but usually the inconsistencies are not so overt, and repeated so many times, that they become central to the entire plot of a character.

So I wanted to refine my earlier theory a bit: I'm cautiously optimistic that there are enough signs that the inconsistencies in Mydei's backstory are deliberate, and that the Mydei of the current cycle in Amphoreus is actively experiencing an entanglement between two different timelines, without (yet) consciously recognizing the incompatibility of his own "memories."

When we work from the standpoint that the events of Mydei's backstory can be separated into two distinct timelines, the inconsistencies vanish:

The "Sea of Souls" Timeline

This is the most prominent timeline, and the one that appears most accurate for "our" Mydei. In this timeline, Mydei was thrown into the Sea of Souls as a tiny infant and spent the first nine years of his life there. This is confirmed both in the flashback we're provided early in 3.1, as well as in Mydei's voicelines and character stories.

After nine years, he crawled out of the sea (possibly motivated by witnessing Tribbie's "star" in the sky). On the same day (or very near it), he met with a band of Kremnoan exiles.

Whether this was a larger group already, constituting a small "detachment" army of exiles, or just started with the five exiled friends and Mydei then grew into a small army by picking up other exiles over time, is still unclear. However, at this point, Mydei makes no mention of returning to Kremnos and instead goes straight from "leaving the sea" to "living ten years in exile:"

This is the key point of inconsistency between the two "halves" of Mydei's story--either he lived in Kremnos or he didn't. We can handwave here and say "Yes, he returned to Kremnos with his friends and they just hid their identities, leaving Kremnos years later in a self-imposed exile," but the story gives us absolutely no indication that this realistically could have happened. Mydei never once mentions hiding his identity, changing his appearance, or living a double life in the city, and never explains how he would have had access to the inner city of Kremnos ("as befitting a crown prince") and the royal library, yet still go totally unnoticed by his father or anyone loyal to Eurypon, including Krateros. (There's also no explanation at all for why he would have wanted to return to a city ruled by someone who tried to murder him and where he would have had to live life under a fake identity just to get by, but you know...)

Instead, the game does give us several pieces of information indicating that the five Kremnoan exiles did not return to Kremnos after meeting Mydei:

First, Mydei's character stories confirm that Mydei deliberately hid his name while traveling in exile across Amphoreus, indicating that he knew he would be recognized by Eurypon/Eurypon's loyalists if he didn't hide his identity. This awareness suggests it is extremely unlikely that Mydei could have returned to Kremnos without being identified:

This also suggests that, at this point in this timeline, no one in Castrum Kremnos knew for sure that Mydeimos had survived being thrown into the Sea of Souls and returned. This is further confirmed by a memory fragment where Krateros says there has been a "rumor" that the leader of the exiled Kremnoan army is one who "defied death." Krateros alone makes the assumption that this could be Mydei and decides to defect to aid him:

This memory suggests two things clearly: Mydei was not living in Kremnos at the time Krateros defected, and the exile of all of Mydei's friends must have taken place before they met Mydei, years in the past, as there is no way an entire small army could have been exiled from Kremnos, with Mydei in toe, and not at all attract Krateros's attention until after they were gone.

The idea that Mydei never returned to Kremnos is further enforced by Eurypon, who did not recognize Mydei when he confronted him, to the point that he didn't believe Mydei was even Kremnoan. This suggests that Eurypon not only didn't know Mydei's true identity--he'd never seen him before at all, making it extremely unlikely that Mydei was walking around Castrum Kremnos, talking to Chryseus Leo, and reading in the royal library all under some false identity for years. Eurypon certainly wouldn't have been capable of exiling someone he'd never seen before from Kremnos, in any case!

Therefore, we can assume the series of events in this timeline is pretty straightforward: Mydei entered the Sea of Souls as a baby, came out nine years later, went straight into a life of exile with his five friends, amassed power and support for ten years, and then returned to seek vengeance on his father.

The only remaining question in this timeline becomes "When did Mydei join up with Okhema?"

I think, in this timeline, it makes the most sense for Mydei to have only joined up with Okhema after killing his father. In 3.1, Mydei confirms to Phainon that all his friends died before he was able to kill his father, and that none of them ever made it to Okhema:

Therefore, the final order of events for the more prominent timeline is:

Dumped into the sea as an infant, nine years in the Sea of Souls

Ten years in exile with his friends amassing strength and support

Returns to Kremnos, kills his father, and the last of his friends dies that day

Then he defects to Okhema, leading any of the Kremnoans willing to follow him there.

By itself, this story makes perfect sense. If this was all the information we'd been given, there wouldn't have been any gaps.

Unfortunately, we also have a whole other set of information that massively conflicts with these events, which can only really be explained two ways: Either Hoyo messed up (again) and really dropped the consistency ball when it comes to writing Mydei's backstory... Or there's an entire separate timeline going on. Personally, I'm leaning toward the latter, because there are just too many seemingly deliberate fingers in the story pointing toward the inconsistencies for them to feel entirely unintentional to me.

Therefore, I propose that Mydei's memories are actually getting infiltrated by a second, entirely different timeline:

The "Gorgo Lives" Timeline

From 3.0 all the way to 3.2, we're given numerous pieces of information that point to a wholly different order to the events of Mydei's life, contrasting the story that Mydei tells Phainon in the Garden. At first, these events seem scattered and nonsensical, contradicting the "main" timeline in too many ways to be anything but errors... But when taken as a whole, we can build a second coherent timeline out of these events if we make one assumption: There is a timeline where Gorgo lived longer.

In the second timeline which is intruding on Mydei's memories, there appears to be one key point of divergence: Gorgo did not die dueling Eurypon. Either she never challenged him to the duel, or (more likely) she was never successfully poisoned, and therefore it's possible she won the duel, allowing her to rescue Mydei from the sea.

Working from that possibility, a second complete timeline emerges:

Mydei was thrown into the Sea of Souls as an infant but did not drift there for nine years. Instead, he was rescued and brought back to Kremnos, where he was allowed to grow up in the inner city, with access to both Chryseus Leo, who served as his teacher, and access to the royal library, which he is proud enough of to call "his" library. He is able to lead Phainon and the Trailblazer around Castrum Kremnos even in its ruined state because he grew up there, spending enough time there to know the city like the back of his hand:

This is where we can slot in the inconsistent memories Mydei has of Gorgo:

(By the way, although Mydei writes this scene off as a dream, you can actually hear Oronyx's whisper play in the black screen seconds before this "dream" occurs...)

But okay, let's say this is just a wishful dream. Maybe this scene never happened. If all we got of Gorgo supposedly raising Mydei was this moment in 3.1, I might agree that it was just a dream (other than there being no reason to play Oronyx's sound effect there, but you know). However, in 3.2 they then hit us with this:

That's multiple moments now pointing to a timeline where Gorgo raised Mydei. Once is handwave-able--twice? That's deliberate.

In this secondary timeline, Mydei appears to have grown up as Kremnos's beloved crown prince, being warmly embraced by his people (at least until Kremnos fell into calamity). Apparently his days consisted of eating pomegranates, training for combat, playing with Kremnos's kids, and hanging out with his five friends. We see snippets of this idyllic life (along with his five friends appearing to be roughly the same age as him--something that likely wouldn't be true in the "main" timeline, by the way) on Mydei's long march back into Castrum Kremnos:

I know some people took this to be Mydei hallucinating or just wishfully imagining a life where he was able to be happy with his friends, possibly even some metaphorical "encountering the souls of the departed in a paradise," but I don't think this is true. Every single time Mydei phases in and out of this "hallucination," the visual effect and the sound effect of Oronyx are distinctly played--the exact same sound and visuals that play when Trailblazer activates Oronyx's prayer to jump between timelines.

Mydei himself doesn't seem to quite understand what is happening to him in this moment, as you can hear him stumble and pant as he repeatedly goes through flashes of Oronyx's power. You can listen to comparison video clips on the prior post I made about Mydei's backstory.

Furthermore, if we work from the assumption that these moments actually represent a rupture between timelines, then the rest of the inconsistencies can finally be cleared up:

In 3.0, Mydei says that his choice to leave Castrum Kremnos was not a forced exile but a "self-imposed" one:

And this aligns with what he stated in the Garden of Life to Phainon, that he and his friends "left Castrum Kremnos" to go into this self-imposed exile, rather than having never returned to Kremnos from the sea:

Furthermore, this also aligns with the angry NPCs in the past version of Castrum Kremnos that Trailblazer and Castorice travel back to:

Remember that this version of Castrum Kremnos was supposed to be occurring while Eurypon was still alive, so there is absolutely no way this line makes sense in the same universe where Eurypon didn't even know Mydei had survived. There isn't any way, in "our" timeline, that Mydei could have been both the "crown prince" of Kremnos for these NPCs and completely unknown to his father, the king.

These NPCs, furthermore, directly accuse Mydei of "deserting Kremnos," suggesting that Mydei was living in Castrum Kremnos as their prince, and then abandoned them to join Aglaea in Okhema, getting himself and everyone who went with him labelled as "traitors to Kremnos" in the process. None of this makes sense in the context of a timeline where no one in Kremnos knew he had even survived.

Instead, all of these elements point to a different sequence of events:

Gorgo lived, likely winning her duel and thereby (likely) giving her the right to save Mydei from the Sea of Souls and bring him back to Kremnos. He was raised by his mother as the beloved crown prince of Kremnos. Then, years later, as his father and Nikador both descended into full madness, Mydei and the Kremnoan detachment defected.

But what would have triggered this sudden need to defect after years of leading Kremnos as a well-liked prince?

The flashback between Mydei and Eurypon actually suggests a possible reason:

Apparently, at some point, in some timeline, Mydei knew about Eurypon's plan to break Nikador's divinity into separate parts and seal him away, harnessing the power of their titan for himself.

Yet the Mydei of 3.0 seems to have no idea about any of this, never able to give any explanation for how Nikador has degraded so much nor why Nikador is seemingly unkillable. Castorice, Mem, and the Trailblazer have to come up with the idea to go back in time to the past Kremnos by themselves, because Mydei never makes any mention of there ever having been a plot to break up and seal away Nikador's divinity, even when they walk past the very blades that did the sealing.

Finally, there's one last piece of conflicting information: While talking to Phainon in the Garden of Life, Mydei states that all of his friends died before the detachment could ever join up with Okhema and that all of their deaths occurred by the time he went to kill his father. But this conflicts with the NPCs above, who state that Mydei had already defected to Okhema and joined the Flame Chase Journey as a Chrysos Heir while his father was still alive.

This inconsistency is further reinforced by a memory fragment with Krateros, who confirms that Mydei had joined up with Okhema already before killing his father:

Putting all of this together, the complete series of events for this second timeline becomes:

Infant Mydei is quickly rescued from the Sea of Souls, is instead raised by his mother, and grows up as the crown prince of Castrum Kremnos with his five friends.

At some point, years later, he discovers Eurypon's plot to break up and imprison Nikador's divinity, and he and his friends and supporters defect from Kremnos as a result.

Either they go straight to Okhema (I'm inclined to say that "ten years of wandering" doesn't fit, chronologically speaking, into this secondary timeline) or they do wander a bit, but ultimately, Mydei reaches Okhema and aligns with Aglaea before killing his father.

After aligning the Kremnoan Detachment with Okhema, Mydei returns to Castrum Kremnos to kill his father, possibly to halt Eurypon's evil plan to harness Nikador's power.

At some point in this timeline, presumably before Mydei returns to kill his father, Gorgo likely still dies (possibly killed by Eurypon and/or Nikador), which explains why the Gorgo in the Sea of Souls seems to be the one convinced that she raised Mydei.

And this is just pure personal speculation, because there isn't enough evidence to really confirm it, but I almost feel like we can even pinpoint how/when the whole decision to defect to Okhema took place. At the end of Mydei's flashbacks to the "peaceful" Kremnos, Peucesta says that Mydei has been away from Kremnos for a while.

Leonnius assumes that Mydei was away on some apparently extended training trip, but this moment specifically ends with Gorgo welcoming Mydei home and asking him one very important question:

Obviously these lines are doing double duty, symbolically welcoming the present Mydei back to the ruins of Castrum Kremnos and asking him whether he's finally ready to take on his role as the "Guardian of Amphoreus." But as the wiki notes, this takes place in a flashback to the past, and for the "Mydei of the past" (aka the Mydei of the alternate timeline), this could very well have been Mydei disappearing from Kremnos to make contact with Aglaea in Okhema, and Gorgo questioning him about his decision to commit himself to the Flame Chase Journey, leading up to an ultimate and permanent defection from Kremnos. (This is just speculation though, trying to tie the last few loose ends together.)

Anyway, when taken from this perspective, that there are two separate backstories here, one from a world where Gorgo lived and the more prominent one where she died, we can sort all the seeming inconsistencies in Mydei's backstory into two surprisingly tidy and complete timelines.

I haven't yet found anything in any Mydei scene that doesn't fit one of these two scenarios, so I'm starting to definitely feel optimistic here that this writing was intentional, and that the "contradictory" backstory we're seeing for Mydei isn't "the worst continuity Star Rail has served up to date," but instead an actual deliberate choice to present us with a character whose memories are a hodge-podge of two divergent timelines, snippets of one timeline constantly erupting and "filling in the blanks" of the other.

I think this would be a fascinating way to lead up to the idea that Amphoreus's world isn't real, that it's a cobbled together story or set of memories that someone is barely holding together, and that it's constantly cyclical in nature, with events repeating with slight variations across times. The idea that Mydei is actually experiencing two different sets of memories crushed together into a tangled jumble and that he's only just now starting to become aware of the discrepancies would be such an excellent way to reinforce the "unreality" of Amphoreus's plot as a whole.

I really hope this is the direction that they take the story... Or at least that I won't one day be looking at all my Mydei posts and sadly thinking to myself that I put a lot more thought into the character's backstory than his own writers did, RIPPPPP. 😂😂😂

Cope with me, people!

#honkai star rail #mydei #amphoreus #amphoreus spoilers #hsr spoilers #3.2 spoilers #character analysis #honkai star rail meta #Mydei's backstory is only a mess if you try to read it as ONE backstory #when you break it into two #it suddenly all checks out lolol #the funnier thing is trying to figure out how Mydei had this much mess in his background #and never noticed that half of his memories don't even add up #bruh please #let's just go with “Memory magic kept him from thinking about it too hard”#It's all Cyrene's fault #yup yup #lol

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deception-united · 1 year ago

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Let's talk about misdirection.

(Requested by @voiceless9000. Hope this is helpful!)

Misdirection in storytelling, through foreshadowing and other techniques, is a powerful tool that can enhance suspense, surprise, and engagement in your narrative and make plot twists more unexpected.

Remember to maintain coherence and avoid contrivances that may undermine the integrity of your storytelling.

Here are some techniques you can use to effectively misdirect readers:

Red herrings: Introduce elements or clues that suggest a certain outcome or plot direction, only to later reveal that they were misleading. These false leads can divert readers' attention away from the true resolution.

Selective detailing: Highlight certain details or events in a way that implies their significance, while downplaying or omitting others that might be more relevant to the actual outcome. By controlling what information readers focus on, you can steer their expectations.

Character misdirection: Use characterisation to mislead readers about characters' true intentions, motivations, or identities. Create multi-dimensional characters who may behave ambiguously or inconsistently, leaving readers unsure of their true allegiances, motivations, or goals.

Foreshadowing: Employ foreshadowing to hint at future events or outcomes, but do so in a way that misleads interpretation. Provide clues that could be interpreted in multiple ways or that lead readers to expect one outcome while delivering another. (See my previous post about foreshadowing for more!)

Misleading narration: Utilise an unreliable narrator or perspective to present events in a biased or distorted manner. Readers may trust the narrator's account implicitly, only to discover later that their perceptions were flawed or intentionally deceptive.

Subverting tropes: Set up situations or scenarios that seem to follow familiar narrative tropes or conventions, only to subvert them in unexpected ways. This can keep readers guessing and prevent them from accurately predicting the story's trajectory.

Parallel storylines: Introduce secondary storylines or subplots that appear unrelated to the main narrative but eventually intersect or influence the primary plot in unexpected ways. This can distract readers from anticipating the main storyline's developments.

Setting: Manipulate the setting or environment to create false impressions about the direction of the plot. For example, presenting a seemingly idyllic setting that harbors dark secrets or dangers.

Timing and pacing: Control the pacing of your story to strategically reveal information or developments at opportune moments, leading readers to draw premature conclusions or overlook important details. (See my post on pacing for more tips!)

Twists and reversals: Incorporate sudden plot twists or reversals that upend readers' expectations and challenge their assumptions about the story's direction. Ensure that these twists are logically consistent but sufficiently surprising to catch readers off guard.

Happy writing!

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#writeblr #writing #writing tips #writing advice #writing help #writing resources #plot development #deception-united

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narcjsistx · 9 months ago

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𝐅𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐅 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋𝐒 | sae, kaiser, rin, reo and isagi

plot: domestic shit because I love fluff stuff 🌷 the characters chosen seem to me to be the most "visible" with little girls... so yeah. I'm actually not very sure of the result, maybe I'll delete it sooner or later to do it again

✶ 𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ; take a look, trust me!

— sae itoshi

If there was one thing Sae had understood since becoming a parent, it was that having two children was complicated. On one hand he was now understanding all of his mother's concerns when, as children, Rin was unmanageable

We know however that males, if brothers, are somehow a little more manageable. Females, if sisters, are not. He was the father of two girls

As much as he loved them, he agreed with you when you said it would have been better to wait a few more years. But then he looks at his girls in the face, he regrets even thinking about it a little, because he loves them too much

In his eyes he sees him and Rin when they were kids: Sayami, the eldest, looks awfully like him because of her reddish hair, but in character she is like you. Semika, the youngest, is different from him in appearance but identical in character. Sayami brings out Semika's very hidden, but existing, sociable side. The only trait that makes girls similar are those damned undereyelashes that have marked the Itoshi family for generations

“Love, when are you going to let them go?”

"No."

"Sae, we've already talked about this..."

"I said no"

"Sae."

"I already said no, Y/n.”

"Y'know, they're already 7 years old. Sooner or later it will happen..."

"Not as long as I'm alive"

...a simple child had asked Sayami if she and her sister wanted to go play with him. Sae took their hand and walked out of the park as fast as he could with his treasures

✶ Sae tries hard to talk with her little girls. In a relationship not talking, or in any case having some communication problems, can be understood... with little girls no, because they would take it as a rejection. He ALWAYS goes out of his way to talk to them as much as possible, also because he loves the moments when they come home from school and, together, they chat about what happened during the day

✶ Let's be honest, Sae doesn't have much other knowledge or passions apart soccer, which was probably imposed on him as a child. He has not the slightest intention of making any of his girls leave school: if like him they end up having to change country to follow a sport, Sae will have to be absolutely sure that they are studying at the same time. He doesn't want them to be like him, because he knows how difficult is that life

Favorite father-daughter(s) activity: resting with them. Sae is often busy with his career, training and of course with his beautiful wife, but he always tries to make time in the evenings (if he's not out of town for a match) with his daughters. He likes to lie down on the bed or on the sofa, before dinner, with the girls who tell him everything exciting they did that day

When you and your little girl(s) show up at one of his games: he hides it well but LOVES when you come to watch him play. If he is normally a prodigy, in front of his daughters he must seem even better. When he scores a goal the first thing he would do is turn towards you, no celebration because it's not his style, but he would wave to his daughters who are cheering for him from the stands. Once the game is over he would ignore the interviewers, as he normally does, and simply come to you to claim his victory kiss

— kaiser micheal

Having children, whether boys or girls, was NOT in Michael's plan. I mean, how can someone who had such a complicated childhood have children? Even if he hides it, he has an enormous fear of being able to make someone of his own blood suffer, voluntarily or not, what he has experienced. He just knows that if something has to happen, it happens. And he doesn't know what fate has in store for his possible heir. He might hate his kid and disown him or her like his parents, if they can be called in that way, did with him

When he found out that he was going to become a father, and with a daughter, he seriously thought for a few moments about simply walking away. Not that he hated you, he couldn't, but it was really strange for him to think that someone of his own blood, his kid, was about to born

Kaiser can't explain how all the worries he had collapsed the moment he held Anneliese, his daughter, in his arms for the first time. Just by seeing and hearing her, he wondered how he could even remotely think that he could hypothetically hurt such a wonderful being

Anneliese quickly became the center of Kaiser's world, along of course with the beautiful mother of his little girl. It can be said that his daughter is a shameless copy of him, both in appearance and character: long, blonde hair, proud and always challenging temperament. One might doubt that she is your daughter but not that she is not Kaiser's. She is liteeerally him

...Sitting on the sofa, Anneliese is watching one of her father's old match. The assist with a teammate ends badly, but the ball returns to Kaiser's possession again and he scores a goal

“Dad, the next time you pass the ball to someone unworthy, I will be even more angry than I am now!”

"I understand, don't worry. I can't make my little girl angry again, can I?"

"Mihya, on the field you have to do what you feel, don't listen to her..."

"How can I not listen to our little girl, Schatz?"

✶ Kaiser loves to take his daughter with him everywhere: whether it's to an interview, to training or to a match, Anneliese is almost certainly with him or next to you. He loves when you and your little girl cheer for him during a match, even more if he knows that if he scores there will be your lips kissing him and the little girl's little arms hugging him. He shows a lot his family and his being a fantastic father (you tell him too, he's a little insecure about this) in front of his teammates. The emperor's family!

✶ Ness is practically the little girl's uncle. He never stopped idolizing Micheal, even more so when he discovered that now there was no longer just one Kaiser but two. Micheal is slightly jealous, he doesn't like that his daughter spends so much time with Ness... he hates seeing his Anneliese so happy with an adult other than him or her mother

Favorite father-daughter(s) activity: he loves when his daughter plays with his hair, especially with the blue parts. Seeing the cerulean blue on his little girl's pale hands, as she braids it or whatever it is, makes him tender. He once dreamed of Anneliese with the exact same hair as him and he admits he wouldn't mind seeing her that way. Maybe blue tipped hair could be the Kaiser's new trademark

When you and your little girl(s) show up at one of his games: whenever you and Anneliese come to a game, the first thing he makes sure to do is that you have a seat in the VIP section. He loves seeing the stadium celebrate for him because his family is there to see him, it's something that feeds his ego. As soon as the match was over he would have you go down onto the field with him, the little girl in his arm and his other arm around your waist as he holds you close to him

— rin itoshi

In his mind Rin, the few times he imagined himself, he always saw himself as the father of a son, and nothing more. Not brothers, as much as he actually liked the idea, just a child and above all a boy. He would have been happy like that

As much as he liked the idea of a possible second child, with his job he wouldn't be able to dedicate the time he knows children deserve. At the same time he doesn't want to leave all the work to you, because parenting is something that is usually done by two. One child would have been enough

He doesn't know how but at a certain point in his life, he found himself with three daughters, all of whom were no more than two years apart. At first it was just a child, your beautiful Ayaka, then suddenly Homura also appeared and finally Rika

The idea of just one boy dematerialized pretty quickly. But he loves his girls so much that, when sometimes he thinks of his original idea, he curses himself: how could he deprive himself of the presence and love of his girls?

All the girls resemble him tremendously, both in character (the one before the incident with Sae) and in appearance, obviously talking about the undereyelashes signed 'Itoshi'. Ayaka, only, is the female version of her father. Homura and Rika have taken something from their mother, but Ayaka could almost resemble Sae too... well, he is her uncle after all, right?

"Dad, Rika doesn't pass the ball when she plays!"

"You can't handle it either, Homura! You can't even pass me games at home!"

"Girls, calm down"

"Learn to score on goal first, before complaining"

...The situation seemed to be calm under Rin's control, but Ayaka broke the calm by scoring a perfect goal into the net of the private home soccer field. New prodigy?

✶ Rin often thinks about what might happen if, in the future, he ever does something that could divide her daughters. He has no preference between them, but he is always terrified that he might do something wrong that could create inequalities that he doesn't want, because in a certain sense, what happened between him and Sae must not happen in another generation of the Itoshi. He bond and love between his daughters must exist forever, not deteriorate as happened with his Nii Chan

✶ He would try to get his daughters to try as many sports as possible. As much as Rin loves soccer, his choice was influenced by the fact that Sae played it... what if he was now a world champion in, idk, volleyball? NO OKAY. He simply likes to make all 3 try new things, looking for something that maybe they could dedicate themselves with passion

Favorite father-daughter(s) activity: when his little girls organize themselves to do makeup on him. He's got a pretty mysterious look to maintain, but if Homura has decided that he's going to show up at practice tomorrow wearing orange nail polish, he'll show up that way. Not that he has any problem fighting anyone who has something to say against him, but no one dares. Rin loves to see them concentrate while putting on mascara or a completely disgusting shade of lipstick

When you and your little girl(s) show up at one of his games: if he knows that you are there to see him play, he will do everything to score as many goals as possible and, above all, quickly: he wants to keep his girls' expectations high. Once he scored a goal he would raise his hand to the sky, waiting for his girls to do the same thing because it has now become a gesture that only each other understands. At the end of the game the first thing he would do is go up to the stands to be with you, fuck his lukewarm teammates

— reo mikage

Looking after Nagi was like taking a pre parenting course. Nagi essentially has the needs of a child if you ignore the fact that he is 17 years old and 1.90cm tall, so Reo knows quite well what a child needs. Then, he always saw the maids in his house bring their young children to work when possible: Reo loved playing with them or picking them up, or just generally spending time with them. The idea of having children, sooner or later and with a special person, has actually always interested him. He always said to himself, but in reality he hoped, that he would find the person who would love him for simply being Reo and not for his money... and then you came along!

His idea has always been of only one child because he is afraid that, sooner or later, two possible children could fight over the money of the Mikage company. Everything is unpredictable, right? So he doesn't want to risk anything

His original idea was respected. When he held Hikari for the first time he simply understood that he wouldn't be able to create, obviously with you, such a cute and perfect being again

The only similarity that links Hikari to her father is the same hair color, that strong purple. For the rest she is completely her mother, and Reo loves this even more: it's cute to see a mini version of you, but with some of his features, walking around the house. His new sweet treasure!!

"So, this... this, yes, also this... that... this"

"Reo, honey, what are you doing with that newspaper?"

"Nothing dangerous. Don't worry"

"What are you doing though? You make me curious"

"I told you not to worry, honey. Trust me."

...Reo was marking all the objects, approximately 300, in a catalog of toys and children's products. If he has money, why can't he spend it if he knows it will make his daughter happy?

✶ The first person Reo told that he was going to be a father was obviously Nagi. Let's say that at first Seishiro wasn't really believing it, but when he saw that pregnancy test... oh... yes, he definitely believed it. It often happens that Hikari stays with Nagi for days at a time, as the little girl sees him as a giant she can annoy. Reo often tells his daughter not to bother Nagi too much, but it secretly makes him laugh to see Seishiro so awkward with Hikari because he doesn't know how to handle children (himself??)

✶ If there's one thing he would never do, it would be to push Hikari into running the Mikage company once she grows up. Reo hated living his childhood with the knowledge that he already had a predetermined destiny, and he doesn't want Hikari to have the same treatment. She want to become a doctor? It will become one. She want to become a farmer? It will become one. She want to become president of the world? It will become one. He simply wants her to do what she loves

Favorite father-daughter(s) activity: travel the world with his daughter or of course with you too. The money is there, and what better way is there to spend it than learning and traveling? Hikari, at less than 5 years old, had already visited half the world. Reo loves taking her to different places and seeing her reactions so amazed. His favorite will remain forever when they arrived in New York, where Hikari didn't stop smiling for a second

When you and your little girl(s) show up at one of his games: it is obvious to say that he would pay to let you have the VIP of the VIP, his girls deserve the best, right?. He would feel amazing among all his teammates knowing that his family is there for him while there is no one for them. At the end of the game he would let the cameras record him hugging you and Hikari, why would he hide all the love he has for you from the cameras?

— isagi yoichi

Isagi was relatively happy as a child: his parents loved him, he played the sport he loved, he didn't do badly at school. Everything was happy for him in his early life. The only thing he often noticed were his classmates with older or younger siblings, who yeah argued with each other, but at the same time loved each other very much. He didn't suffer from loneliness from being the only child, not that, but he was always intrigued by the concept of not being the only child in the family

Since you've been dating seriously, and even before actually, he's always thought that his future family would model what he had: loving parents, one child, two if they had the chance

When Fujiko was born there was this plan in his mind: okay, now we dedicate ourselves to her, we give her everything she needs... then, if we want, we will have another child. Both you and Yoichi were very convinced that a max of 5 years after the birth of the kid you would try again, but Fujiko filled your lives so much that you decided that only she was good for the whole life

Fujiko's appearance bears little resemblance to her father's, maybe just a few facial features. If we talk about character, however, everything changes completely: it's a kind of Isagi 2.0, the same determination coupled with a lot of kindness. We will find out later if she also has bipolar disorder on and off the field like her dad- WHO SAID THAT??

"Fujiko, why aren't there any more pencil in your pencilcase?"

"Mom, I had to give them to some friends. Otherwise they couldn't write what the teacher said"

"This kindness reminds me of someone"

"Who? Who? Who?"

"Think about it: who do you consider to be the kindest person in the world?"

"My dad!"

...doing homework with your daughter, you noticed that some things were missing. Isagi is kind, one of the kindest in the world; when you told him about it he was perplexed, because he too would have done the exact same thing... just like his little girl

✶ Having now become a professional striker, he often does not have the opportunity to spend long periods at home due to champions or special training sessions. When this happens he is happy to leave because soccer is his passion anyway, on the other hand he dies inside every time he hugs his daughter or you for the last time. He loves his family, he would like to always be with you and Fujiko because you give him courage, but he understands that always moving with him from city to city, or even from country to country, is complicated and, above all, tiring

✶ He would like to direct Fujiko towards soccer, but at the same time he knows that he cannot choose something that is actually up to her. He has the belief that Fujiko would probably be good as him, unlocking her own version of the meta vision, but he prefers to see her little girl happy with the things she has chosen and loves

Favorite father-daughter(s) activity: he likes when they watch the games Isagi has already played. Television often replays reruns of recent or even old matches, and whenever Isagi is present on the field, Fujiko is the first to ask to watch them together. Yoichi enjoys seeing her so amazed by the actions on the field, commenting on anything that she doesn't understand because she rightfully doesn't know the rules of soccer. The thing that amuses him most is explaining to her who are the people he passes the ball, whether they are his friends or not, but now for Fujiko there is only Bachira with the title of dad's friend

When you and your little girl(s) show up at one of his games: the mere fact that you come to see him play is a lot for him, but since you and Fujiko once showed up wearing a jacket that said "biggest fan of number 11" on the back, he understood that he didn't it would matter if he were to be burned alive if he did it for you. Unfortunately the insults would always be there, but he would try to contain himself in front of his little girl. At the end of the game the first thing he would do is come to you and let you onto the field, making you celebrate with him

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