#Narrator became a new comfort character

[blue-sunflower-bee]

The Narrator's loneliness

"I used to make big decisions. I was passionate. I was sceptical. I weighed each decision with profound thoughtfulness. And then, somewhere along the way... I stopped making decisions. I became lazy. And I came up with-well... I came up with a character named Stanley to do my thinking for me."

It is strangely endearing to me that Stanley, canonically, is created to help the Narrator. He's a somewhat silent support to give him a direction, some orientation. Maybe it's just me projecting, but maybe making big decisions was linked to more and more anxiety for him so he came up with Stanley as additional help. Maybe sth happened in his life that left him numb and frozen and not having someone to lean on, he created Stanley to help with his overwhelming emotions.

"He would make the decisions, he would decide which way to go. I would cheer him on as he collected figurines for no reason."

This is so interesting to hear, cause even tho the Narrator is the one who wrote the story and seems to be in control at all times, he is still dependent on what Stanley decides to do, and that he pulls along with everything he does, that he's dependent on Stanley's decision making, he grew more and more dependent on Stanley being there and taking the lead. How truly lost he is when Stanley just stops doing so is very evident in the Not Stanley Ending.

"Why did I invent Stanley? Was I lonely? Yes, perhaps that's it. Perhaps I needed to imagine I had companionship."

This pretty much confirms what I thought mostly while going through the game... That the Narrator created Stanley to cope with his loneliness, the absence of companionship. To have someone to talk to... Even tho this someone isn't talking back. Like he said during the Skip Button ending... It's a difference when you know there is someone to take it all in. I notice this difference too. Even when I talk to my pet, that isn't able to talk back at me, or my house plants, it's so different to talking to myself or a mirror. It's even a difference when I play the game and response to some lines the Narrator says, I also always have the habit to somehow make Stanley nod or shake his head in response when he throws a question at me.

"And Stanley did make for a wonderful companion. Even if he was a fiction."

Everyone saying the Narrator hates Stanley can go home now.

"But I suppose it's grown old now. I- I want to think for myself again. I want to go back to how it used to be."

Healing process right there. The Narrator is basically admitting or realizing that he can't depend on Stanley forever and makes the step to be his own person again, not because he was forced to do so, but because he wants to. He wants to be better again.

It's like finally seeing the unhealthy dependancy in a relationship and deciding to move out of it because you know it can't go on like this. That you'll lose your sense of self when you continue on this pattern.

I also kind of like the slight hesitance when he says he wants to think for himself again.

"Yes. I can be on my own again. I can do it. I'll be stronger this time. I'll take care of myself."

Look at my boy reassuring himself. It's like he's repeating a positive mantra for himself to ease his anxiety like "I can do it. I could do so before, I can do so again." It's oddly endearing and heart wrenching at the same time.

"I don't need Stanley anymore. Oh... But he truly was so much fun to play with. You know what? Since we're in the memory zone, how about one more good memory? Let's go back just once and give Stanley one more run of the office. And then I'll retire him for good."

I saw so many people viewing this, especially the first two sentences, as if Stanley was a mere toy to the Narrator who gets tossed away when he is sick of him. To me, it's not like that at all. He more appears like he prepares himself to let go, to say goodbye, and it's so bittersweet. He says "I don't need Stanley anymore" not in a "I'm sick of him" way, more in a "I don't need his help anymore" way. He created Stanley to help him when he was struggling, to have someone to keep him company and grew sort of dependent on him, but now he is able and comfortable to be on his own again, so he doesn't have to clutch onto Stanley anymore cause that wouldn't be healthy and he knows this.

Because I like to drop a bit of pain in every Fandom, I sort of started headcanoning that the Narrator lost someone who's very dear to him, a lover/brother/friend you name it, and he modeled Stanley after this person, to deal with his grief and the void and loneliness this person left behind. He's in denial of his loss and once he has reached the stage of acceptance, and he is ready to let go of his loved one, ready to say goodbye, he retires his fictional Stanley too.

[celestemona]

𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘'𝐑𝐄 𝐃𝐀𝐃𝐒

and the kids ask them how did they fall in love.

pairing: dad & husband! alhaitham, cyno, kaedehara kazuha, kaveh, lyney, neuvillette, wriothesley x fem! reader

cw: original characters, slightly ooc to fit the plot, domesticity, fluff. use of farsi, arabic and japanese terms. there's a lot of dialogues but there's a plot. approximately 7.3k words. not beta-read.

reblogs and comments are appreciated ♡

Wriothesley

You watched Cameron and Éveline playing on the other side of the room as you tirelessly documented the files that had arrived from the courthouse that afternoon. 

Wriothesley have been patrolling the prison’ Forbbiden Zone all day after receiving an information about some anomaly within the fortress, so you barely had seen your husband except for the brief greeting at breakfast.

Distracted with your work, you didn't even notice that both children had stopped building the wooden blocks and Cameron was sitting in the chair in front of you while Eve made herself comfortable on the sofa behind him.

“Mummy?” he called and you looked up from the papers at him and smiled.

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“How did you and Daddy fall in love?”

Your son's sudden question took you by surprise, leaving you stunned for a few seconds. But you soon found yourself chuckling and ignoring your work to pay attention to the boy. 

“Why the sudden curiosity, Cam? That's pretty out of your character, you know.”

Cameron shrugged.

“I just want to know how you and Daddy met.”

Smiling softly, you nodded.

“Very well. Let’s see… It all began a long time ago, when mommy was sentenced to the Fortress of Meropide,” you narrated in a reflexive tone and waved for Éveline to come closer to sit next to her friend.

“Back then, mama wasn’t the person she is today, you see. I was rude, I was always angry, I picked fights with anyone who crossed my way and I didn't let anyone get close to me. You could say I wasn't a very nice person to be around, and because I was in prison, it also meant I wasn't a good person either.”

“I simply couldn't get used to life down here as most of the prisoners do, nor do I could accept the sentence that was given to me. Therefore, I rebelled in every way I could and participated in the fights in the hope that someone would see some value in me and would send me back to the capital. But, well, at that time we had a not very nice director and the inmates cared more about themselves than about others.” 

“Lo and behold, a year passed, your dad ascended as Duke and I was still hoping to be able to get out of here.”

“But then, the night of a new duel had arrived and barely I knew it'd be a night that'd change my life forever. It was the night I finally met your dad. Or better saying, where he became interested in me.”

“I remember it was a quick fight. I was already assured of victory but my opponent decided to bravely face me anyway. Although I was no longer the girl I was a year ago, I was still merciless in the face of a rival. Mostly of the Pankration Ring’s regulars knew my name because I made of it my reputation. That was one of the reasons your dad went to watch the fight that night. He wanted to see who was the person who was sending dozens and dozens of prisoners to Sigewinne,” you smirked at the kids making them giggling. 

“When the fight ended, he came to me wanting to know more about me and asking all kinds of questions. Nevertheless I wasn't interested in relationship, preferring to stay away from every one of the Fortress. Furthermore, I had an exclusive grudge against men so I couldn’t stand his person,” you paused the story to see if Cameron would react negatively to this detail but the boy only seemed more interested by it. 

“I don't remember very well what I said to him, however, it was clear that I wasn't interested and didn't want any kind of flattery from him. Needless to say it didn't work because your dad is as stubborn as a mule.”

“From that night, Wriothesley made a promise to himself to get closer to me and he fulfilled it very well as he kept following me everywhere.”

“It was extremely annoying and I couldn't understand what his curiosity about me was. After all, when I first arrived here he had never shown any sign of acknowledging my existence, so why at that moment?”

“Even though I still didn't understand him and tried at all costs to escape his sight, Wriothesley always found a way to find me and include me in his conversations. It was irritating to get so much attention from the new director of the Fortress of Meropide, and it was even scarier for me not to know what was his intentions either. But, over time, I got used to his presence and even started to yearn for it…”

“A couple of months later I dared to ask him why he insisted on getting closer to me,” you snorted at the memory as a small smile stretched your lips.

“What did he say?” Éveline asked curious.

“He said he wanted me to know that even though I kept pushing everyone away from me, he’d always come back. Because even though I thought I was doing better on my own, no one deserves to be alone and remain unseen.”

“It wasn’t the answer I expected but I felt like all my feelings—all the frustration, anger, sadness, and pain I was carrying at that time were validated, and he was seeing each of them.”

“After that, it took a while longer for me to accept that there was someone who cared about me, but I slowly opened my heart to him.”

“When I finally came to terms with my feelings, I still tested Wriothesley's loyalty a little bit more. I must say it was worth it to see him working hard for two years. Nonetheless, he was and still is the best choice I’ve ever made,” you finish the story and the children clap excitedly making you laugh in amusement.

Unexpectedly, a third person also claps and you see the said person leaning against the stair railing, smirking at you—probably he had been there since the beginning of the story.

“So you mean that all that time I was trying my best to have my feelings acknowledged you were testing me? That hurts, doll.”

You roll your eyes and turn your attention back to the children who were entertained by the scene. 

“Just like I’ve said. It was worth each second.”

Neuvillette

“Mummy, daddy. How did you fall in love?” Éveline asks suddenly as she makes her presence known in your husband’s office, making both of you stop your tasks to stare at her.  

“I was playing with Cam today and he asked his mama how she and Monsieur Wriothesley met and fell in love, and it was a very nice story! I want to know how you and papa met and fell in love too!” she says with a rare enthusiasm that makes you chuckle and Neuvillette smiles fondly.

“My my, if my beautiful Line isn’t curious today, huh?” you tease your daughter and leave a quick peck on her pale cheek soon after. “Well, let me see… Everything began when mama was sentenced to prison,” you chuckle when Éveline's blue eyes widen. 

“No need to get your little head stewing with that, angel. It was years ago and mama didn’t stay there too long either. You see, your mom used to do some… inappropriate stuff and I ended up going to trial for that.” 

Neuvillette snorted softly from his desk.

“Inappropriate is a very polite way for your mom to say she used to be involved with a lot of illegal matters, darling,” Neuvillette pointed out with a small smirk himself as he stopped his reading to stare at you. 

“Oh, shush you, Neuvi. You say that as if it was an unforgivable crime when it wasn’t,” you roll your eyes in fake annoyance making Éveline giggle, “As I was saying, angel. Mama went to trial and, of course, your papa was the only one to conduct it.” 

“You see, I already knew who was he—actually, who didn't? The just and benevolent but impartial Iudex of Fontaine. Although, I had never seen him in person until the day I had to show at court.”

“At that time I’d never admit it but I was very anxious to meet the head judge of Fontaine. When you get involved in reckless things, you think you're smarter than everyone and will never get caught, but little did I know that your dad had been tracking and watching me for ages.”

“And then when I finally stood in front of him, my nervousness strangely disappeared and became more like a curiosity. After all, I had only heard about the Iudex's morals and not his personality much less his appearance, so it was clear to everyone at the court that I was very intrigued by that man standing above me.”

“As the trial proceeded, he gave me a five-year sentence in the Fortress of Meropide which I managed to reduce by eight months for good behavior,” you winked at your daughter who kept listening to your storytelling, dazzled. “Not only did I refuse to be there in prison away from my own business, but I felt more motivated to return to the surface to learn more about your dad.”

“When I finally got back to the city, I used all my means to get your dad’s attention again—which actually worked several times since he likes to keep an eye on Fontaine’s order.” 

“Then, the months were passing by and my curiosity and interest just kept growing. And suddenly, I caught myself falling in love with all the things I was learning about him.”

“Even though it was fun to use of wrong ways to get the attention of the man you like, it was also tiring. And that situation was also reaching a point where I felt like your dad wasn't giving me the signals I was expecting him to do, so I was also getting stressed. Maybe he isn’t as fond of me as I am of him, that was what I thought.”

“Nevertheless, I'm a very resilient woman. I didn't let myself sink into self-pity, much less feel sad about the lack of reciprocity in love so I opened a new business here in the capital saying I wanted to live a peaceful life, and see where it’d take me. Fortunately here I could make great friends, a lot of associates, and even more trades.”

“And contrary to my guessing, Neuvi eventually started to visit my store where we had more appropriate interactions and talks, much for my joy.”

“I kept falling in love with him every day, you know? Thankfully your dad is a gentleman and he didn't take too long to ask me on a date. From then on, we became almost inseparable. That’s our story.” 

As you finish your love story, you could see your daughter’s eyes sparkling like two beautiful gems and a huge smile shining on her face. It made you happy that she enjoyed the story of how her parents met instead of getting mixed feelings by it—after all, the things you still do are better kept hidden until she’s older enough to understand them. 

You and your family kept talking about the said topic for a while, but eventually, you had to say goodbye to them to leave for a meeting with some partners from your business which you already were late for.

Unbeknownst to you though, Éveline and Neuvillette who were still in the office, shared your love story once again. But this time, it was a version you still haven’t heard.

Perhaps you'd never know either as it became a secret shared only between father and daughter. 

“I fell in love with your mom at the very moment I saw her.”

Lyney

The twins' little nimble footsteps could be heard throughout the house before it took them to the kitchen where you and Lyney were busy cleaning the lunch dishes. 

“Mommy, mommy! Uncle Freminet just read a book to Quentin and me and we want to know how you and Daddy fell in love too!” exclaimed Corinne, smiling excitedly. 

“Oh my. That was quite sudden,” you laughed as you dried the last dish of the day and put it away immediately to give your full attention to the children, “I bet it was a very romantic book for you to be so excited about.” 

“It was!”, they exclaimed together making you and Lyney laugh. 

“I don't see why not, then. It may not be as exciting as the tale Freminet read to you, but I think you'll like it too,” you say sitting at the table and placing Corinne on your lap while Lyney does the same with Quentin. 

“Well, I think our story is much more charming than the one in the book that Uncle Freminet read to you,” replies your husband, sending you a wink, “You could say that like a fairy tale, the magician prince fell in love at first sight with the most beautiful princess in the entire kingdom.”

“Back in those days, a troupe of nomadic artists traveled throughout Teyvat bringing joy and laughter to their audiences. It was your mom’s family.”

“They traveled across all nations enchanting its residents with their music, acrobatics, but especially with their dance. And, believe it or not, they had never come to Fontaine until that day.” 

“As a lover of the art of entertainment, I had to see for myself what a performance by the Pathfinder’s Troupe would be like, they who had a reputation that extended beyond the stars in the sky! Furthermore, as a colleague in the same department, I also wanted to give my final verdict. But truth to be told, daddy was just a little bit of jealous because of all the attention mama’s group was getting at that time,” he made a face at this specific memory that made you and the kids laugh. 

“So when the night of the show came, I finally understood why they were such a success. All the troupe members had a bright, warm smile, seeming to love what they were doing. The music was loud and happy and even though you didn't know the language they sang in, you wanted to join them. It was a simple show, but funny and welcoming.” 

“But then when it came time for your mom to take the stage, there wasn't a person in the audience who wasn't dazzled by her. Including me,” Lyney pauses as he smiles at the memory running through his mind. You smiled back. 

“It was, and still is, the most beautiful performance I had ever seen. Not only did your mom look like a goddess at that moment, with her traditional clothing, makeup, and gold jewelry, but she mesmerized the audience with her movements.” 

“Unfortunately, her dance didn’t last long and she soon left the stage, thanking us all for our presence.” 

“Like several people enchanted by that beautiful dancer, I tried to approach her to say my compliments but—whether you two believe it or not, daddy was scared to death.” 

“Why scared Daddy?” asked Quentin. 

“Mama was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen in my life. I didn't want to make a fool of myself in front of her, much less offend her with my words,” Lyney replies to which the two children nod as if they understood. 

“Luckily, daddy always had a secret or two up his sleeve, and when I approached her, I did a little magic trick turning a tiny spark of my vision into a Rainbow Rose, which at the time I thought was my worst trick but it seemed to make your mom happy.” 

“It was the most genuine and sweetest gesture anyone had ever made to me,” you extend your hand to your husband across the table and he takes it, placing a light kiss on your palm. 

“We didn't have much time left together since she was traveling back to her hometown the next morning, and nor did I have the courage to invite her to dinner either, something that caused me deep regret and even made Aunt Lynette annoyed.” 

“But before she left, I promised I’d see her again. And, luckily, a few months later, she and her troupe returned to Fontaine to perform a new show.” 

“And then you said you loved each other?” Corinne asked innocently.

You and Lyney laughed, “No Rin. Far from it actually. Your dad could barely get close to me without him stuttering something indecipherable, turning around, and disappearing into the city streets,” you teased your husband which made him feel embarrassed. 

“What can I say? You always seemed to get more beautiful each day and I had never been interested in anyone before. Besides, there were a lot of suitors vying for your attention so I figured you wouldn’t be interested in me.” 

You roll your eyes in amusement, “And look where we are now.” 

“So how did you start to love each other?” Quentin asks, still in doubt. 

“After many failed attempts by your papa, he finally managed to invite me to dinner—which I accepted without thinking twice. After that, he felt more confident talking to me and asking me out,” you say, “But there were also many times when we were away from each other due to our work.” 

“I knew I loved the troupe and I loved being on the road traveling and performing in different countries but I was also in love with your papa. When I was with him… I knew I had found a home. So I left the troupe, came to Fontaine, confessed my feelings to him and, fortunately, he confessed me back.” 

“And since then we have been living happily ever after. The end!” Lyney jokes and you and the twins giggles again. 

“So! Did you like the story?” you ask. 

Corinne is the first to nod eagerly. Her beautiful purple eyes shone like two amethysts in pure joy towards her parents' love story. 

Quentin in turn… 

“Meh. I thought Daddy had fight a dragon to save you.” 

You and Lyney stare at each other for a while before laughing loudly, catching the attention of Lynette and Freminet as they enter the kitchen. 

Yeah. You couldn't deny it. Fighting a dragon seemed more exciting in this case.

Kazuha

“It’s more precise to say that love has fallen on me,” Kazuha said as he sat Kazumi on his right leg and little Kiyomi on his left. His children looked at him with a confused expression making him chuckle. 

“It was a long time ago. We were sailing on the waters east of Mondstadt when I felt an unknown agitation being carried by the wind currents.”

“You should know that it’s pretty rare to face sea creatures nowadays due to fishing, but at that time, it was an occurrence we faced quite often so we should've always be prepared for it. And as part of The Crux’s crew, it was my job to stay vigilant, so I immediately informed our captain and mates to stay alert and careful for a possible attack—although I must say I wasn’t alarmed as I should be. Something in my instincts told me to not be afraid,” he smiled at the memories. 

“Then, as if to confirm my predictions, we saw a shadow crossing the skies and falling not soon after. No one seemed to react in time, however, I had instantly prepared myself with the help of my vision for whatever was coming to us.” 

“That was when your mom fell directly into my arms, surprising everyone on the ship because I had just saved her life from a free fall after one of the wings of her wind glider broke,” the kids gasped and he kept softly smiling at them.

“I feared that your mama had hurt herself during the fall but when she finally looked at me she was giving me that gorgeous, bright smile of hers. I think it was at that exact moment where she had my heart.” 

“Until that moment I had never seen someone so beautiful in my life. She looked stunning, wonderful. As radiant as the first sun ray of the morning.”

“I could see she was thanking me for saving her life as her lips kept moving, but all I could do at that moment was stare at her, completely mesmerized. It was quite impossible not to be that one who was falling in love at that very moment.” 

“After that, she started accompanying us on some journeys and even took us on some of her adventures. I was in love with her free spirit, yes, but even more so with her person. It didn't take long for us to get closer, and starting to date her was as natural as having her in my life.”

“That's our story. It is still being written, however, this time we have you, our most beloved children, to share our memories with.”

As he finished it, Kazuha noticed the dreamy and joyful expressions on both children's faces. Kiyomi seemed the most enchanted by the story since she had inherited the romantic spirit of both her parents while Kazumi pretended to be unimpressed when in fact, inwardly, he was eager for more details of it. The patriarch couldn’t hide his amusement at the view. 

Both siblings showed excitedly their enthusiasm towards their parents’ love story with some funny and cute comments here and there which, eventually, drew your attention to the living room they were in.

When you walked in with a baby Haruki sleeping in your arms, your family stopped their conversation to stare at you which made you raise an eyebrow in confusion.

“What? Am I interrupting something? I heard a loud noise coming from here and came to see what you two little things were up to.” 

Kazumi and Kiyomi looked briefly at each other before giggling cutely. 

“Otochan was telling us the story of how you met and how he fell in love with you,” your daughter responds excitedly. 

This immediately brings a smile to your face, making you walk over and sit on the couch next to them, adjusting Haru comfortably in your arms as you lean towards your two older children and husband. 

“Oh, I love this story! Did you guys know? I literally fell for your dad!”

Kaveh

It was late at night and you and Kaveh were putting Zahra to sleep. 

Normally, you and your husband would take turns with your daughter's nighttime routine so that the tasks wouldn’t be exhausting for only one person. 

However, the little girl had woken up sick that morning and had demanded her both parents' attention all day, acting more whiny than usual. So it wasn't unexpected that she also asked for both parents to be with her at bedtime.  

Lying in bed with Zahra, you stroked her blonde curls as she snuggled into the warmth of your embrace, happy for the attention she received. In turn, Kaveh was looking for a book from her mini library to read to her, although you could tell that he was having a hard time making the right choice since none of the options seemed to catch his daughter's attention. 

“Umm… We have The Boar Princess, Flowers for Princess Fischl, and The Fox in the Dandelion Sea but Daddy doesn’t know if you want me to read one of those titles again,” Kaveh showed her the books but Zahra denied them.

“No! Daddy already read The Boar Princess yesterday and I don't like Princess Fischl,” she responds grumpily, which draws a sigh of defeat from the architect. 

“Okay, I'm out of ideas. Azizam, I need help here.” 

You giggled softly but went to your husband's aid, “Well... How about we change the scene a little and tell you a different story?”

Zahra's eyes suddenly widened in curiosity and she nodded enthusiastically. 

“How about if we tell you something new? Something that doesn't even exist in books. The story of how Mommy and Daddy met!”

Kaveh, also seeming to brighten at your suggestion, takes the other spot on your daughter's tiny bed and wraps his arm around both of your waists.

“Ah, this is one of my favorite stories,” he comments, sending you a small smile. 

“It’s better than The Boar Princess, mummy?” asks Zahra excitedly. 

You laugh, “Much better than The Boar Princess, sweetheart. Honey, how about you do the honors?” you suggest in a mischievous tone that catches Kaveh off guard, but seeing that you weren't going to budge and his little princess seemed increasingly anxious, the architect cleared his throat before starting to recount about the day he finally met you. 

“Let’s see… It was at a time when life was a bit of a rollercoaster for me.”

“You know, I’ve always been very passionate about my work and have always dedicated myself to the maximum to bring my projects to life. I was ambitious, hard-working, and had dozens of clients but I was also quite ignorant. It didn't matter how great my desire to build houses and palaces was, or how strong were my inspiration when my wallet didn't match my reality. Neither did my mental state...” 

“Then one day I received a letter. It was the Liyue's Tianquan inviting me to participate in an exclusive civil construction project and my participation in this event would be of great honor.” 

“When I saw that opportunity, I grabbed it without thinking about the consequences. After all, it wasn't every day that I received a chance like that, and even though my work had a certain popularity, not all clients were able to follow my ideas. So I imagined that being in a foreign environment with people who apparently valued my projects would be like reaching the purpose I wanted. Plus the paycheck seemed to be rewarding too.” 

You snort in amusement at his last comment. 

“So I went to Liyue and soon I was in a huge meeting room with professionals coming from all Teyvat. As the project meeting continued I found myself increasingly out of place by the suggestions my colleagues were making. They were so closed-minded. When they’re thinking about time, I wanted quality. While they wanted cost savings, I wanted to do something to make the people involved in that construction feel worthy of a home. It was disappointing and I was starting to get sick of that place.”

“That’s when your mama decided to speak out,” the man’s eyes twinkled briefly. 

“Unlike those people who had simple and selfish ideals, your mom was brilliant, confident, and bold. Not only did she catch the attention of the men in that room with her beauty and elegance, but it was certainly her intelligence that captured the hearts of many that day. Including mine.” 

“Until that moment I hadn’t given my opinion, but knowing that one of the main people in charge had a similar vision to mine, I felt excited to give my ideas. It was one of the moments I felt most anxious too.” 

Zahra frowned, “Why Daddy?”

“I think at that moment I got it into my head that your mom had high expectations for me and I didn’t want to disappoint her.” 

“But luckily that wasn't the case as she seemed to approve each of my ideas. That’s how we ended up forming a partnership.” 

“As we worked together, I found myself liking her more and more. At the time, this was also a big obstacle for me as I didn’t like mixing my professional and personal relationships.”

"But— aah, your mama had a way of enchanting me every day. She appreciated my work and my dedication. She encouraged me to think bigger and challenged me to be bolder not only with my work but with myself. Somewhere along the way, our nightly sessions turned into conversations about life, ambitions, and even our struggles.”

“A few months later, when we finally finished the construction, I felt brave enough to confess my feelings to her, and guess what your mom said, Zaza?” 

“What? What did she say Daddy?” she asked expectantly. 

“Mama said she wouldn’t accept my feelings until I sorted my life out,” he huffed making you laugh and your daughter look at you in disbelief. 

“Don’t look at me like that, Zaza. At the time it was the right decision to make. I was already in love with your papa as much as he was with me, but I knew he wasn't ready to get into a relationship when he wasn't okay with himself. I wanted someone who could provide me security and was confidence in themselves, and your daddy didn’t have those qualities.”

“Ouch, azizam. You don’t need to rub it in!” 

“I’m just saying.”

Kaveh sighed resignedly, “Anyway, she said she wouldn’t accept my feelings but would wait for me as long as necessary.” 

“After that, I returned to Sumeru but this time determined to prove myself to her. I used every means possible to resolve my financial, family, and personal issues. I worked tirelessly to find my path and build my own home. And almost two years later I traveled back to Liyue. But this time I was sure I wouldn't leave without my girl, and so I did,” he finishes the story, and you clap softly while Zahra smiles tiredly. 

“It was a great story, azizam,” you comment, smiling, “But I think now it’s time to finish for today because our little princess needs to sleep well to wake up better tomorrow.” 

Kaveh looks at his daughter's sleepy eyes and agrees. 

You place Zahra back on her pillow and cover her with the blanket, placing a kiss on her forehead—Kaveh copying your gesture soon after.

Saying goodnight to the girl, you and your husband leave the room together, leaving the door ajar the way she liked it. 

On the way to your room, you couldn't help but notice how Kaveh looked so down and you frowned.

“What’s wrong?”

He clicks his tongue and turns his face to the other side, mumbling, “I was just thinking you didn't need to say that I didn't look confident back then, you know? What about now, azizam? What will my own daughter think of me? She’ll think I’m lame!”

You roll your eyes. 

“You surely look lame now.” 

“Hey!”

Alhaitham

The heavy oak door creaked softly as Alhaitham entered the house, his mind finally relaxing after a long day at work. 

Right in the living room, the scribe identified your very focused presence with what he presumed to be correcting tests and homework. So as not to make his arrival go unnoticed, Alhaitham approaches and gently touches your shoulders, making you jump in scared. 

“I’m sorry, habibti. I didn’t mean to scare you,” he says and you smile at him. 

“It’s okay, dear,” you reach for his hand and squeeze it in greeting, “But you should learn to make a little more noise, Haitham. Your presence is as subtle as that of a cat. Anyway, welcome home.” 

Alhaitham kisses the top of your head, “Thank you. Where is Hakim?”

You frown and look around the room but don't identify your son's presence anywhere.

“I am not sure, to be honest. He was here with me until a few minutes ago but I don't think watching his mother work is that fun. Maybe he's painting in his room? If he had gone out to play with the twins, he’d have told me,” You conclude. 

Your husband nods, but the faint gleam of recognition in his eyes announces that he already has an idea where the child could be. 

“Very well. I’ll change my clothes first and I’ll make us some tea right after, okay?” 

You nod in thanks and turn your attention to the paperwork while Alhaitham disappears through the halls of the house. 

Instead of making his way to your shared room, the scribe heads to the door of his office where he finds it ajar. Not surprised, Alhaitham approaches and through the small opening observes the brightly lit room as Hakim makes himself comfortable on the floor leafing through a specific book but surrounded by dozens of others—which he assumes have fallen to the floor as his son tried to reach them from the highest shelf. 

A mixture of fatherly pride and affection surfaced beneath his stoic exterior. 

Clearing his throat lightly, Alhaitham approaches with measured steps, not wanting to scare the boy.

“I thought I’d find you here,” he announces making Hakim jump in fright, just like his mother did. Alhaitham snorted in amusement. 

“Sorry Baba. I know you don’t like anyone touching your things, but I was going to tidy everything up later.” 

“It’s okay, Kim,” he replies calmly and sits down in the armchair located in the middle of the office, “What are you reading?”

Hakim smiles adorably showing off the book he was so interested in and Alhaitham couldn't help but chuckle. 

“It’s a cool book!” comments the boy, “I can't read what's written because there are lots of strange letters and drawings but they're cool too.” 

“I expect so. After all, your mother wrote this book.” 

Hakim’s interest peaks, “Really?” 

“Yes. It's one of my favorite ones, by the way. It was through it that I met her”, he pats his thighs inviting Hakim to sit on his lap which the boy accomplishes happily. 

Hakim leans back against his father's warm chest, hugging the book affectionately, “How did you two meet, Baba?”

Alhaitham was silent for a few seconds before letting out a reflective sigh. 

“It was at the same time that I was holding the position of Acting Grand Sage”, Alhaitham began, his voice taking on a nostalgic tone. 

“Sumeru was going through great changes due to everything that had happened and, inevitably, Akademiya had been one of the main places affected by it. I ended up temporarily taking on the role of the great sage out of respect for Buer's wise decision, although it wasn't exactly the job I was looking for.”

“There were many responsibilities, many commitments, and daily there were dozens of issues to be resolved due to years, centuries of bad motivations. So you can imagine how exhausting it was to rebuild an entire institution from zero and be that person that people followed orders.”  

“Until one day your mother suddenly appears as a new candidate for the position of professor in the Darshan of Haravatat.” 

“I hadn't met her at first since our paths never seemed to cross. Yet the words in the halls of the Akademiya were always the same: the new professor was like a breath of fresh air in that old institution—beautiful, kind, with a passion for knowledge that matched her beauty.”

He paused, remembering the scene as if it were yesterday. “One afternoon, I found myself in the library again, buried in a book—absorbing all that knowledge with a hunger that had previously been unknown to me. Little did I know that it was her book that I was reading. Such insight, elegance, and dedication to details had uniquely captivated me.”

“I was pretty engrossed in the text when I heard footsteps approaching,” Alhaitham continued, with a hint of amusement in his tone. “She stood by my side and gently asked about the book, curious to know what I thought, and so our conversation began.”

“We didn't talk much that day as I was a much more reserved person, but she was exactly as the scholars’ whispers described her. Through the brief talk we had, I was able to explore philosophical thoughts and complexities of life that I had never explored before. Your mother had a way of drawing out my thoughts, of making me see beyond the surface and into the depths of existence. That’s what attracted me to her in the first place.”  

“As days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months, we met at the library quite often. Our discussions deepened, and with each talk, I found myself opening up in ways I hadn't before.”

“I think she knew back then that she had caught my attention, although it took her a little longer to realize that she had stolen my heart,” he chuckles softly. Hakim smiles in delight.

“We began spending more time together beyond the Akademiya strongholds, exploring the world around us. It made me realize how much I wanted her in my life. In that same way. Every day." 

“And then one night, in our quiet sanctuary in that very hallway in the library, I told her those exact words,” Alhaitham's voice softened with love.

“She smiled that radiant smile of hers that illuminates even the darkest corners of my soul and said she felt the same way. At that moment, Hakim, it was like the stars aligned and everything fell into place.” 

“That’s how I met your mother, Kim. In the silent corners of knowledge and amid the pages of her wisdom, our love story began—a story woven with understanding, respect, and a bond that grows stronger with each passing day.”

Alhaitham ends the story with a slight smile to which his son imitates him, admiringly. 

“I hope one day I can meet someone like you and mama did, Baba.” 

The scribe smirks in amusement, “I hope for the same, child.”

Not long after, you made your entrance into the office carrying in your hands a tray with three cups of tea and milk and Hakim's favorite cookies. 

“I knew you boys were hiding out here,” you smile at your husband and son, completely oblivious to the story they just shared. “Come on. Let’s eat while the cookies are still warm.”

Cyno 

The whole family was gathered in front of the fireplace reviewing some photos that you had captured and saved over the years. 

From your days as an eremite to the twins' first steps, every moment was recorded in several photographs that you kept with the greatest care so that, from time to time, you could remember them again with a nostalgic feeling. And currently, this was one of those moments. 

Aryan and Isaar were having fun with some older photos of Cyno, courtesy of Cyrus, while you and he organized the rest of the albums back into the box they belonged to. 

It was a serene moment, of pure bliss and harmony. Something you wish you could capture with your kamera again, but you'd rather enjoy just being with the people you loved most. 

“Hey Mama, what picture is that?” asks Isaar, breaking you out of your daydreams. 

When you recognize the black and white, slightly blurred image, a giggle couldn't help but escape your lips. 

“Aah, it's from our first date,” you reply happily, “If I'm not mistaken, Dehya and Candace had followed us that day and took this one. Nobody could believe that the emotionless and unapproachable General Mahamatra could go on a date with a beautiful girl, so I think they wanted to have proof that this day happened.” 

Cyno snorts and the twins nod in understanding, smiling at each other. 

“How did you and Baba meet?” Aryan asks shortly afterward, still mesmerized by the photo in his brother's hands. 

You and Cyno locked eyes briefly and a mischievous smirk crossed your face as the flicker of a smile curved his lips. 

“Well, you boys won't believe it, but it all started when I defeated your baba in a fight.” 

The smile on Cyno's face immediately disappeared, being replaced by an expression of slight unbelief and confusion. “You didn't defeat me, hayati. I remember very well that it was a draw.”

You made a slight grimace as if you didn't believe the blasphemy your husband was saying, which left him more incredulous than before, and your children quite amused. 

“These are irrelevant details, my love. Let’s pretend you never said that.” 

“Anyway, I was a different person back then,” you continued, your eyes shining with a mixture of mischief and pride. “Living according to my clan's philosophy but in a more devious and rebellious way, if I may say so. I wanted to chart a path in a way that’d only suit me.” 

“I used to do several illegal jobs for which the matras already persecuted me for, but it was deceiving the young and naive scholars from Akademiya that amused me and made my reputation grow among its guards. No need to give me that look, boys. Mama only took them to forbidden ruins and mausoleums in exchange for extra money,” you added the last part as you received strange looks from the twins. 

Cyno, seeing the scene, snorted in amusement, “You’re not helping yourself, hayati.”

“If they want to hear the true and complete version they better be prepared to hear what happened,” you wrinkled your nose. 

To save you from more possible judgments, Cyno resumed the thread, his deep voice cutting through the room. “I was immediately informed about the incidents that were occurring with certain frequency, and tasked with restoring order. It was supposed to be a job easily accomplished even by the lowest ranking among the matras, but not only were your mom’s activities not within the law, as no officer was a match for her strength either. Many scholars had not been discovered of their misconduct thanks to her,” he admitted, a slight affectionate smile crossing his face. 

His subtle compliment made you shy. 

“And just as your dad’s reputation preceded him, he tracked me like a bloodhound,” you said with a hint of admiration underlying your words. “Until one afternoon I caught myself off guard on the outskirts of the Sobek Oasis and he appeared announcing that he’d take me to the capital so I could have my punishment. I found him incredibly attractive at that moment, but I wasn't going to give in so easily either. In the end, we ended up fighting,” you giggled remembering the duel. Two forces of nature colliding: fire and thunder. 

“It was a draw,” Cyno resumes saying it again, “Although I must admit your mom gave me a bit of a hard time. It was my first time facing a formidable opponent who was equal to me—I dare say even superior to my abilities.” 

Isaar, the more curious of the twins, leaned forward, eyes wide with excitement, “What happened next?” 

You exchanged a knowing look with your husband, silently communicating with him. 

“Well, sometimes life surprises you,” you respond cryptically, reaching out to ruffle the child’s hair in affection. 

Cyno's gaze softened imperceptibly as he continued, “Our paths continued to cross after our first meeting. While on one hand your mom seemed not to give up what she was doing, I felt increasingly motivated, challenged to stop her—after all, not only was this affecting the performance of the Akademiya students, but it was also tarnishing the reputation of the matras who weren’t managing to deal with that situation.” 

“But as time passed and we kept facing each other, we also came to an understanding. Sometimes behind the clash of wills, there is a common thread. That’s how your mom and I realized we were stronger together than we were apart.”

Aryan, although quieter but no less attentive, absorbed his father's words with a thoughtful expression. 

“So, it was like fate, Mama?” he mused aloud.

You smiled warmly at your children, your heart filling with maternal pride. 

“Maybe it was. In an unpredictable way, but woven by the hands of fate,” you respond, your voice carrying the weight of years of shared history and love.

As the night progressed, you and Cyno continued to tell the twins your stories of adventures, challenges overcome, and the unshakable bond that had been born in infertile soil and blossomed into a deep, beautiful and lasting partnership. 

[aayakashii]

routine

Pairing: Kagami Subaru x MC/reader

Tags: SFW. Character analysis, a bit of angst, hurt x comfort (I think), fluff and romance between you and Subaru, over 6k words

Author's note: this is probably the biggest fic I've written lol and I'm kinda proud of how it came out, since it also took me some days to fully flesh it out. I'd appreciate comments if you liked the fic! Comments literally keep every writers alive. Anyways, hope you enjoy!

Kabuki Glossary:

Biwa: Japanese short-necked wooden flute traditionally used in narrative storytelling

Geza: the music that plays during kabuki, performed live

Hanamichi: flower path; a long, raised platform, running left or center to the stage through the audience, connecting to the main stage, used to make dramatic entrances and exits

Mie pose: a powerful and emotional pose struck by an actor

Onnagata: actor who acts the role of a young woman 

Sewamono:  a genre of contemporary setting plays in Japanese traditional theatre

Shamisen: three-stringed traditional Japanese musical instrument

Tachiyaku: young adult male roles, the actors who play those roles; most commonly these are hero roles, though not all of them

Takemoto: a specific type of song, it is also the narration device used during a kabuki play. It consists of a chanter/narrator (tayu) and the shamisen players

Subaru had become used to it.

You would come to visit him right after your classes, if you weren’t assigned a mission, and Subaru would welcome you with tea and some obscure sweet he managed to get, just to let you try it. You two would talk, and you would share stories about your friends in the Academy, how your life was before you became cursed, and he would tell his own stories, even if he thought they weren’t nearly as interesting as yours.

It gave him a sense of belonging.

Subaru hadn't had much experience with friendships or any interpersonal relationship at all.

His life was merely the background for his career as an actor. His bare skin was merely the foundational bricks for the red and white makeup that would adorn him once he was out on the stage.

When he was under the spotlight, his monotone voice resounded loudly – louder than the drums, louder than the shamisen, louder than the biwa. Subaru became gigantic under his costume. His movements were sharp and hypnotic, the flow of his kimono as he walked down the hanamichi and the pierce of his gaze turned all heads towards him. He was a genius, a talent like no other, the future of the kabuki theater.

And he did not see himself in any of it.

Here lies the true tragedy of a burned out genius child: to go under insurmountable levels of pressure, only to find that the dreams of your parents were never your own.

Subaru did not want to be under the spotlight, no matter how much the spotlight wanted him and no matter how much others wanted him to be under it.

As he was forced to keep walking the flower path, his chances of living life as a normal kid were gone: he had no friends, no acquaintances, nothing that helped him find out who he was for himself.

So, he had no experience.

But he knew that he could pick out the feeling of belonging somewhere after spending time with you.

Eagerly, he waited for the clock to reach 5PM everyday, knowing that you would come through his door to spend time with him.

Routine was always something he appreciated, anxious as he was. He didn't like surprises, he wanted things to be predictable, to give him even the slightest sense of control over his new life as a student.

Therefore, to know that you would come to visit everyday, at the exact same time, was his comfort – even if the thought of you made his heart skip a beat, although he didn't quite understand why.

Not even standing behind the greatest stages made his heart drum loudly after a while. As the green, red and brown curtains of the stage were pulled, his body went on automatic. The takemoto went through his ears, unnoticed, and the geza became white noise. He moved gracefully, although his mind flew into other planes. As the audience clapped enthusiastically as he stood in his mie pose, Subaru wished he was somewhere else. He felt extremely guilty for not being able to appreciate the hard work of the musicians and the actors, but after he figured out that the passion he thought he had was merely a reflection of his parents’ passion, everything became black, white and gray.

Yet, planning fancy snacks for you made his hands clammy and his heart restless – and it wasn't the most comfortable feeling, however, he didn't hate it. He knew you'd come through with the routine and wash his anxieties away.

However, much to his dismay, his comfort had been ripped off of him for the past three days. His precious routine had been broken and Subaru would be lying if he said he wasn't counting the hours, the minutes and the seconds until it was restored, somehow.

He just had no idea how to fix it.

You had been fiercely avoiding him for three days, ever since the last meeting was cut short, and he blamed himself for hurting you in the worst way he could have ever done it.

Subaru has always had awful self-esteem.

No matter the compliments about his genius, none of them stuck to him. When you despise what you do, being good at it just brings forth more bitterness towards oneself.

Subaru was a rarity in the kabuki world – someone who could represent a captivating tachiyaku or the most elegant onnagata. He could be the hero or the princess, something that most actors could not do. To don the costumes of two genders was the cause of endless praise and awe from the audience and members of his acting house alike – none of which he accepted.

To him, his talent came as second nature. There was no need to hone his skills – they were already there, much like an additional organ he was born with – and he loathed that fact. He loathed how this pushed him towards a world in which he didn't want to participate. 

He truly valued the hard work he was now putting into his studies, something he was creating with his own hands. He could see his own growth and pat himself on the back for it – even if he still had a hard time accepting compliments (he knew the only reason he was the captain of Hotarubi was due to his status, after all. He was just a figurehead).

Subaru’s stigma was an even bigger burden towards his path of bettering himself. 

If he hated being an actor, he hated himself even more for his powers. Much like his talent, he did not ask to be bestowed with such a repugnant stigma. It was the reason why his parents would never touch him, never hold him. He was a walking breach of privacy, a dangerous little thing that could easily become a weapon, if the truth of his stigma was found out. He was untouchable in every way, figuratively and literally.

He truly couldn't understand how Lyca, Zenji, Haku and you were so quick to accept his ugliness. 

“You aren’t disgusting, something like this could never be your fault”, you had said, when he wallowed in self-pity after revealing his secret. But to step out of his cycle of self-hatred was a tough task.

Your visits helped, however. For the first time in his young life, someone saw him as himself and stayed. 

Haku and Zenji were his true friends, but they still saw him through the lens of that one genius kabuki actor. And Lyca… he was alone and desperate.

You, however, had the ghouls of Darkwick Academy wrapped in your little finger and, still, you chose him. Despite his social awkwardness, his anxieties, his anger, his stigma. You chose him whenever it was time to get lunch, when you could be resting, when you could have anyone else. The thought of it made his heart skip a beat again. He was sensing a slight pattern.

Yet, it had been three days, and you were gone. No messages, no visits, no news.

He understood your avoidance despite it all. He had committed the worst sin he could have done to his dearest friend.

He had touched you.

You had come to Hotarubi at your usual time, 5PM, sharp. Your hair was disheveled and a few droplets of water stained the tatami of the tea room as they fell from your face and hands, while you hurriedly took off your shoes.

“I’m so sorry for making a mess, Subaru! I had to run here to arrive on time and ended up forgetting my umbrella… I had to walk under every cover I could find, but I still ended up being sprayed by the rain.” you said, as you stood at the entrance, shaking your body as if you were trying to get rid of the excess water.

Subaru shot up from his spot, his face contorted in worry.

“Oh no, please don’t do that!” he said, as he ran to quickly rummage through the drawers of the room for towels “You always have to use an umbrella when you come to Hotarubi, what if you get a cold?”

You grabbed the towel he gave you, smiling awkwardly.

“I know, I know. I just didn’t want to arrive late. I didn’t want you to get anxious.”

Subaru blinked, face blank, as he was caught off guard by your answer.

“You… you don’t need to worry about me. I’m not that anxious.” 

You laughed, and he felt his breath hitch on his throat.

“Suuure, and I don’t breathe oxygen…” you said jokingly, hanging the towel on a nearby hanger after you finished patting your face and arms dry, giggling as you noticed the way he was pouting slightly. “I’m just playing with you! I’m sorry.”

“No no, I’m sorry about worrying you to the point of you having to hurry…”

You rolled your eyes and raised your hands to put them on his shoulder, quickly stopping yourself before you could actually touch him, resting them on your hips instead.

“Subaru. You don’t have to apologize for something like that. I am doing this because I care about your well-being. You're my friend and I want you to be okay. It’s not something to feel apologetic for. Instead, you can just thank me for being a great friend.” you winked and he immediately looked away from your face, that was too bright for him to stare at.

“O… okay… Thank you.” Subaru murmured, forcing himself to look at you again, from under his lashes, a small smile adorning his features.

“You’re very welcome.” you nodded “Now let’s drink some tea please, I do need something hot to warm myself!”

“That’s true, let’s get you warm so you won’t get a cold, please.”

Soon, time slowed down as you two sat and chatted about everything and nothing at all. You talked about how weird Darkwick's shopkeeper is, how awfully crowded the dining hall is (Subaru avoided it like the plague), how scary Professor Hyde can be sometimes, how loud Kaito and Luca are, how cute are the little cats running around all day…

How funny it is that you two always met for lunch in a place where only romantic couples hung out, you mentioned in passing, almost mumbling to yourself like you didn’t want to be heard.

“Does it make you uncomfortable?” Subaru asked, already looking apologetic, hearing you despite your low voice.

“No, no” you were quick to dismiss his concern “It’s, um, I don’t know... Doesn’t it make you a little nervous?” you said, laughing sheepishly, a foreign blush warming the tips of your ears, which went unnoticed by him.

“You get nervous when we’re there? We can eat somewhere else, you don't have to stay in a place you dislike just to appease me…” Subaru muttered, frowning “I’m so sorry I didn’t notice that it was making you uncomfortable…”

“No, no, no” you shook your head vigorously “That’s not what I meant at all! I… I don’t think I can explain it to you just yet. I don’t think I’m… ready, or… whatever, I don’t know…” you trailed off, incoherently.

“Ready? I’m sorry, I don't understand.”

“It’s okay” you flashed him a smile and grabbed one of the kimono catalogs that were littering his table, fidgeting with it, mindlessly “Don’t worry about it. Let’s just keep eating there, okay? Promise we’ll keep eating there?”

“But I want to understand what you mean- oh!” Subaru cut himself off as he saw a thick sheet of paper cut your thumb while you flipped it anxiously “Your thumb…”

You looked at the small cut that was letting out a single droplet of blood and shrugged.

“Oh, I didn’t even notice… it’s okay, I’ll put a bandaid over it later. Wait, Subaru? Wait… wait, no!”

The boy didn’t quite register his own movements, as his hand went to grab your bleeding one, gently grasping your pulse with his soft fingers, running his own thumb over your cut, as if his touch could heal you faster. 

His hands were bare.

You inhaled sharply and, instantly, it all flashed into his mind in quick succession. Like a large wave overwhelming an inexperienced swimmer, he was pushed down into the deep waters of those memories, causing him to gasp, breathless.

Subaru was swarmed by visions of himself in every possible situation. He saw how your gaze followed him when you spotted him from a distance in the campus; how you searched for him in the crowd of students during lunch time, on the tranquil balcony in which you two have shared your food together plenty of times before; and how you turned your head around whenever you heard someone mention his name in passing.

He had glimpses of the way his hands moved while making tea; his profile as he smiled gently when he tried explaining your homework to you; and his own eyes softening as he talked about Lyca. In your eyes, he looked magical. Ethereal, even. Someone who deserved to be admired, loved, praised and he knew these were your own emotions being whispered so subtly to him.

Subaru saw himself in a way the mirror had never reflected back to him. He discovered parts of his being that he wasn't able to find out for himself, because they would only come to the surface when he was with you.

In his mind's eye, right then, Subaru laughed, loud and breathless, as he clutched his stomach – all the restraint he built through his lifetime, gone through the window, after you had merely told him some silly joke. The way he brightened with your words, making your heart beat in a terrifying, yet delightful way, made your breath catch on your throat.

And much like a dying man seeing his whole life flash through his eyes, he arrived back to the present and saw himself, staring wide-eyed at his own hand tightly gripping yours.

He blinked, and his consciousness came back to him.

Subaru, like usual, felt incredibly weak after using his stigma, yet he still quickly turned his gaze towards you, eyes wide and mouth opening and closing like a fish, unable to say a word.

Your face was beet red and your eyes were blankly staring at your own lap, lips pursed into a thin line and eyebrows furrowed. Your free hand was clenched into a fist, knuckles pale with the force in which you dug your own nails into your palm.

“I…” Subaru murmured, trying his best to weave a coherent thought.

You got up quickly, breaking the hold Subaru had onto your arm, and grabbed your things in a hurry.

“I think- I think I should go.” your voice cracked and you cleared your throat harshly “Thank you so much for the snacks and tea, they were delicious like always” you blurted out, quickly making your way to his door.

“Wait, no, I- I'm sorry, I-” Subaru held his hand out, as if he tried to reach you but you were too far away, oceans of distance between you two.

“There's nothing to apologize for!” You said, way too cheerfully for him to believe you “I just gotta go now. I have… I gotta go. Yeah. See you soon, Subaru.” you stepped out into the rain and soon disappeared into the mist that surrounded Hotarubi, not waiting for whatever he tried to say.

Subaru stared at his own hands. The little droplet of your blood stained his fingertip, and he took a deep, shaky breath.

He had betrayed you. He had seen your innermost memories without your consent and now you were mad at him. He had to apologize. He had to beg for your forgiveness, until you took pity on him and allowed him to be your friend once again. 

Falling into a deeper pit of self-hatred was hard, but he tried to keep it together, for you. He needed to be lucid in order to beg for your pardon once you came back to visit him. He just hoped it would be soon.

But you did not see him soon at all.

“I don't think they're mad at you for seeing their memories, it’s not really like them. But maybe they're embarrassed?” Haku pondered, taking a bite of the mochi Subaru had set out for you out of pure habit.

“No” he shook his head, adamant “They wouldn't simply disappear if it was just that. I don’t believe that. I have done something that made them angry at me. I saw something I definitely shouldn't have seen.”

It was the fifth day of you avoiding Subaru and he was hanging on by the thinnest thread. He was so close to snapping that it was becoming clear to the other Hotarubi students. And so, Haku and Zenji came to intervene.

“Well... I can't really give you my proper opinion if I don't know what you saw.” Haku said bluntly, making Subaru flinch.

“I can't tell you. I would be breaching their trust again. That’s the last thing I need to do right now.”

“You are absolutely correct, my dear friend!” Zenji remarked “However, we can’t possibly figure out the true essence of your situation if you can't tell us the whole entire story! How can we write an ending without knowing the beginning and the middle of the plot?”

“I don’t know…” Subaru murmured, looking more miserable with each second.

Haku sighed loudly, shifting his legs on the seat.

“Subaru. We don't want to gossip. We just want to know the situation better. We are their friends as well, you know?” he smirked “We can help you figure out their emotions. If anything, you might feel better after venting. How’s that phrase? A burden shared…”

“Is a burden halved!” Zenji finished, boisterously.

A pang resounded in Subaru's heart at how his friends were doing their best to help him.

“O…okay. I'll tell you”

After finishing recounting the last day he saw you, Subaru sighed loudly.

“Well?”

After a moment of silence, Zenji exclaimed loudly, startling the other two.

“Oh!! The spring begins!!” he yelled, one hand on his chest as the other went up in the air “How lovely it is to see young buds bloom into perfect flowers!!”

Haku slowly nodded at Zenji’s words and chuckled, rubbing his own face in disbelief while he noticed how absolutely perplexed and confused Subaru still was.

“I see now…”

“What?” the brown-haired boy fidgeted, almost desperate to grab Haku and Zenji and shake them by their shoulders “What's going on?”

The other boys looked at each other, before turning back to him. 

“Subaru, I don’t want to beat around the bush so I’m just gonna say it straight away. They're like… very much in love with you.”

He blinked slowly, as if the words were entering his brain at a snail’s pace.

“What?” was all he managed to utter.

“Yes, my friend! Our lovely flower seems to be completely smitten by you!”

“No” Subaru shook his head “That can't be. It doesn’t make any sense.”

“Man, if there’s one thing that makes sense in the world, is what we’re telling you right now” Haku said, while laughing “Specially after everything you said you saw. You just… saw their feelings when they weren't ready to tell you yet, so I bet it feels embarrassing. It's probably eating them alive right now. That’s why they’re not visiting.”

Subaru stared at his own lap, his mind not properly processing the depth of the situation – the word “Love” bouncing in his brain like a lost temari.

“Then…” he whispered, throat hoarse “What should I do now?”

“What do you feel for our little flower, my friend? Do you correspond to their feelings? Do you love them back?” Zenji worded gently, as if he was talking to a scared wild animal.

“Do I love them back…” 

Haku nudged Zenji, motioning for both of them to get up and leave Subaru for the moment.

“Figure that out first. If you do, go after them and tell them you correspond to their feelings. If not, just let them deal with it on their own. Also, if you don’t like them back, don’t ask for them to come visit you again like nothing ever happened. You’d just be rubbing salt on their wounds.”

“How do I figure that out though?” Subaru looked up at the two men as they leisurely walked outside of his room, eyes already brimming with tears.

“You're a smart guy. You'll figure that out by yourself.” Haku winked at him and both him and Zenji slipped away, leaving Subaru at a loss.

Subaru did his due diligence the only way he knew how: by studying. He started reading romance mangas and watching romance movies. It was the type of media his family would never approve of, as they deemed it unworthy of someone refined like him.

Still, despite him thinking that that “forbidden knowledge” would give him all the answers, it still led him nowhere.

He wasn’t like any male lead from these works. He could never run after someone in an airport and yell their name, begging them to stay and forgo all of their life plans. Subaru wasn’t like that. He couldn't run, couldn't yell and could never see himself as more important than anything.

His self-esteem wasn’t nearly as good as what was necessary for him to feel even the slightest kinship towards the strong, bold male leads, who always had something impressive to show – something that made them who they are, even if they had failures in their personalities.

Subaru could say he had his career as a Kabuki actor as something impressive, but again, it wasn’t him. Kabuki was a part of him, yes, but he wanted to shed it like a cocoon.

Despite that, he thought, then, of all the romantic plays he had performed.

He remembered the pain of most love stories, the tragic end of most sewamono plays he performed and he felt the thorns of grief strangle his chest, tightly.

He remembered the star crossed lovers who could never be together, the man who was promised to someone else and couldn’t be with his beloved, and the woman who had her life binded to a place that would never let her be with the one she desired the most.

All of them, lovers who could never be together, so they chose to erase their own light, because being without one another was more painful than dying together.

Subaru thought about not having you in his life for a moment and he figured: maybe not having you was its own type of death. A life without his most beloved friend felt like an empty one. A loveless one.

He paused.

Love. He thought of this word so candidly, it came to his mind without conscious thought – like it was second nature, like it was the obvious conclusion. And so, he decided to allow his thoughts to flow naturally, without pressure or expectations for once.

He thought of the way he searched for your gaze whenever you two were in public, seeking your comfort and approval. 

His heart skipped a beat whenever he glanced at you and you found his eyes, smiling silently at him, as if you two had a secret inside joke. 

His chest swelled with pride whenever you agreed with him (it didn’t matter the subject) and he almost felt like he could burst with it whenever you thanked him for his help studying, or when you praised him, or when you giggled at something he said.

Subaru cared for your tastes and opinions, always asking for your favorite foods, flowers, scents and colors. He made sure to smother you in your favorite things, in order to keep you more comfortable – in order to keep you with him just a little longer everyday.

His thoughts wandered over to you at any given moment and he didn't even notice. He'd question himself whether you'd like something, which sweets he could order for you, which teas he could brew.

Without noticing, he based his life around you and it felt absolutely right when he did that. It felt like belonging somewhere.

Subaru inhaled sharply.

The place in which he belongs is wherever you are, he figured.

Subaru hastily got up and bolted out of his room, out of Hotarubi and into Darkwick's campus, where the rain was pouring heavily, accumulating around the lamp posts and pitter-pattering loudly on the asphalt. His clothes were drenched in mere seconds.

He had forgotten his umbrella.

Subaru banged as loud as he could on the door of the rundown cathedral, trying to blink away the raindrops that stuck to his eyelashes and blurred his vision. He could barely see through the heavy rain anyway, so he missed the lights on the windows flickering on and your shadow hurriedly descending the stairs to walk towards the tall doors.

“Subaru?!” you yelled through the sounds of the storm, his hands still raised in fists, ready to keep on banging at the door. “Oh my goodness, Subaru, you’re drenched!”

You pulled him by his uniform’s sleeve, doing your best to avoid touching him without his consent. ‘Always so thoughtful’ he thought to himself, feeling a little floaty after finally seeing you after a whole week.

With his realization, the dam that was keeping his feelings for you safely contained inside a hidden part of himself was no more.

Subaru acknowledged that he was madly in love with you and he immediately began feeling foolish. His fingers itched to touch you despite his fears and he could look at you for hours on end, drinking every detail and every mannerism.

It was like admitting his love was also letting go of his self control. He felt like something inside him nudged him to be as close to you as possible and it flustered him.

No wonder the movies and mangas said that being in love made people a bit sillier, a bit dumber. But the extent of it was almost ridiculous.

He followed you like a lost puppy when you motioned for him to come with you, and soon you two found yourselves in the kitchen.

“Okay” you let out a loud exhale “This is the warmest place in this dorm. You’re lucky I was already making myself some tea. Also, I’m gonna bring some towels and a change of clothes for you, although I might not have something that’s your size. Geez, Subaru, what were you thinking, walking all the way here in this storm? And this late? Without an umbrella!” you rambled on and on, pouring boiling water into a mug for him to drink and dipping a tea bag inside, carelessly.

Subaru grabbed the warm mug and looked at you, with saddened eyes that felt like an arrow through your heart.

“I missed you.”

You took a long breath as you heard the words coming out of his lips, and stared at him, dumbfounded, like he had suddenly grown a second head. You were about to reply, when Subaru shivered intensely despite the warmth of the kitchen, and you came back to your senses, walking briskly towards your room, in order to fetch the towels, leaving his words unanswered.

Subaru sipped on the tea, suddenly every insecurity bubbling up to the surface while he waited for you to return. What if he totally misunderstood your memories? What if you just loved him as a friend and nothing else, what if Haku and Zenji were totally wrong, what if what if what if-

The sound of your hurried footsteps interrupted the avalanche of thoughts that were most definitely about to bury him under a panic attack. He focused on your silhouette approaching him with a handful of towels and what appeared to be a big nightgown.

“Okay, let's get you near the stove.” You said, beckoning him to sit where you were standing.

As soon as he sat down again, you covered his head with a towel and began drying him up as best as you could. Subaru focused on the feeling of the soft fabric rubbing against his head, and then his neck and his arms.

“I'm gonna turn around and close my eyes. Meanwhile, please try to dry yourself properly and then put on this nightgown I found, okay?” you said, quickly turning around on your feet, not waiting for his input.

Subaru stared at your back for a moment, and began doing as he was told – the thoughts that were plaguing him calming down and silencing on your presence, as if you were a protective charm. His protective charm.

“I'm done” he muttered, hair still dripping, but mostly dry when it came to his whole body.

You sighed, looking at his wet mop of hair and began drying him again, in silence.

“I’m sorry for touching you” Subaru was the one who first broke the comfortable stillness between you two. 

“You know I’m not mad at you because of that, right?” you replied.

“You disappeared” he stares at you, the hurt in his eyes clear as spring water.

“I know, and I'm…” a beat passes by, longer than it actually was “I apologize. I know running away isn't the best approach, but that was all I came up with.”

Subaru stayed silent, as if he was waiting for you to complete your answer.

“It's just… I can imagine what you saw and I wasn't ready to discuss it yet.” you finished, shoulders slumping after you finish drying his hair.

Subaru moved a few strands of his brown hair away from his eyes.

“What do you think I saw?”

You glared at him, cocking an eyebrow at the question that sounded way too much like a tease.

“I don't think you’re in a position to ask questions like that, are you?” you replied, unintentionally snappy.

“Oh, I'm sorry… it truly wasn't my intention”

But it was Subaru that was standing before you, not anyone else. Truthfully, you knew he would never in a million lifetimes think of teasing you on purpose. It was one of the reasons why you ended up so lost in your feelings for him.

You sighed, more in frustration with yourself than anything else.

“I know, I’m just… Look, Subaru… I'm sorry too.”

It was his turn to raise his eyebrows, but in confusion.

“For what?”

You chewed on your bottom lip, avoiding his eyes even though you were standing so close to his sitting form that his whole presence overwhelmed you. 

“For putting this burden on you. I know you saw my… like…”

He waited yet again for you to finish.

“I know you saw my feelings for you.”

Subaru could immediately feel a warmth spread through his chest, cheeks and ears at your words. So he wasn't mistaken? So you liked him back? Truly?

“But I didn't want to burden you with them.”

The smile that was tugging at the corner of his lips suddenly dissolved into nothing.

“B-burden me?”

You pursed your lips, transferring your weight between your legs, back and forth, back and forth, anxiety clear on your face as you thought of how you could tell him what was on your mind.

“I didn't want to ruin what we have, I think? But there's no point in hiding now, right?” You chuckled nervously “I mean, you already know, but I really like you, Subaru. If I ruined our friendship because I got too greedy, I think I wouldn't be able to handle it.”

You looked at him, eyes swirling with emotion and, for a second, Subaru thought this could all be a dream – the only thing that confirmed otherwise being the uncomfortable chill of his body, a sign of a fever approaching.

“Everything you do… every interaction we have, I just get more and more in love” you cringed at how emotional your own words sounded “But I am so scared of your rejection. I think in part I was hoping you'd forget about that incident during my time away from you. I didn’t imagine you’d come after me.”

Subaru's heart beat drummed loudly and fast inside his chest, although he tried to keep it hidden (his face betrayed him, however).

“Did you think of me while you were away?” He managed to mutter.

“Are you kidding me?” you laughed, breathlessly “You were all I thought about this whole week.”

His ears burned red.

“I… thought about you all the time too.” he mumbled, gaze fixed on his own hands.

“What?”

He took a sharp breath and steadied himself, training his eyes on you as he spoke his next words.

“I'm so… I'm so sorry I'm not good with emotions and I'm sorry that it took me a whole week to understand things when I could have relieved you of this earlier but… I figured it out. I finally did.”

“Figured out what?” you tilted your head to the side and his chest warmed once again at the effortlessly cute gesture, giving him even more certainty to keep saying what he had to say.

“I like… no… I love you too.” he watched the way your eyes widened and darted all over his face, as if to search for a sign of truth behind his words.

“I am so blind and afraid of other people that it took me that long” he proceeded “But I know now. I.. I really do love you and I don't want to be away from you any longer. You don't have to stay away anymore. So please.” He got up from his seat and took a small step towards you “Please don't leave me behind like that anymore.”

You shook your head, tears welling up on your eyes, his intensity squeezing your lungs until you thought you could die, breathless, his eyes stealing every ounce of air from you.

“Subaru… Please… please don't tell me you're doing this to appease me.”

He paused.

The thought of you not believing in his words tugged a little at his heartstrings, but he also couldn't blame you. Not when he was so unsure of all of his feelings on a daily basis, towards everyone and everything, and you were the main witness of the way he clumsily stumbled his way into understanding himself.

He was absolutely sure of this, though.

“I'm not.” he said, voice steady as he looked at you.

“Because if you're saying this just because you want to keep me close, I would never be able to forgive you.” You looked away from him, pain over this imaginary scenario clouding your face. It was the time for him to extinguish your anxieties and insecurities for once.

“I'm not.” He took a step closer towards you.

“Please… don’t try to please me if you don't truly feel the same way.” You shut your eyes tightly, throat clenching as you felt the tears threaten to fall.

“Look at me.” He pleaded, and you hesitantly complied, breath hitching on your throat when you noticed how close he was standing to you “I promise you. I'm not.”

Subaru leaned forward, capturing your lips into a quick, chaste kiss, a fire burning on his cheeks at his own boldness.

He was still afraid of his stigma and how it would work with the other parts of his body besides his hands, but once he noticed he was still grounded in reality and not locked in another memory of yours, he got a bit bolder once again, and kissed you for just a little longer, lips melding together just a little more. The softness of your kiss made him sigh and his heartbeat deafened his ears. 

He tentatively rested his forehead on yours once the innocent kiss was broken.

The first thing he noticed was the warmth you radiated while he stood near you. Both of you had beet red faces and your minds were hazy, as if they were made of clouds.

You were the first to come back to reality and giggle at how overwhelmed both of you were with just a little kiss.

Slowly, hesitantly, your hand came up to cup his cheek, and he leaned into your touch like a cat.

“The stigma?” you whispered

“Not activated”

“Good.”

Your other hand came up to run your fingers through his hair, on his nose, on his chin. 

“Do you believe me now?” Subaru asked, wholeheartedly.

“Maybe, I think I'm going to need a few more kisses to fully believe you.” you smiled, teasing him a little bit.

“Really?” He leaned away to look at your eyes, still a bit worried he hadn’t convinced you yet.

“No” you snorted “I'm just joking.”

“Oh I see… sorry I didn't get it right away” he furrowed his brows, apologetically.

“I don't mind getting more kisses though!” you squeezed his shoulders, reassuring.

Subaru chuckled, still a bit flustered at your proximity. Suddenly, however, he scrunched his nose and stepped backwards.

“Subaru?”

“Oh. Oh, I think I'm gonna–” Subaru quickly turned around and sneezed into the towel that still hung on his shoulders “Oh-oh. I think I'm getting a bit sick.” he said, nasally, nose dripping a little bit as he sniffed loudly, back still turned towards you.

You fretted, hovering all around him as you scolded the poor boy.

“See! What did I tell you!” You quickly placed your hand on his forehead and gasped “Let's get you to bed right now, Subaru. You're already feverish!”

You pulled him quickly towards your room, hearing his wheezes as both of you climbed the stairs that led to your quarters.

“But I don't regret what I did” he stifled another sneeze “I needed to talk to you.”

You blushed, opening the door to your room, and glared at him.

“And now you're sick…”

You two climbed the stairs to your lofted bed and you pulled the covers, motioning for him to lay down.

He sat on your bed and looked at you, puppy eyes blinking his allergy tears away.

“But… it kinda looked like a movie thing, didn't it…?” he said, sheepishly.

You pushed him towards your pillows and covered him thoroughly, pouting a bit.

“I think it did…” you stared at the giddy smile that tugged on his lips and sighed, shaking your head.

“I'm going to be down there” you pointed to the bottom of your room “So if you need anything, I'll be here. I'll just grab you some water and medicine and come back quickly, okay?”

You got up, but as you began to leave, Subaru held your hand. His eyes were already droopy, the events of the day getting to him, along with the cold that was quickly racking his body.

“Are you going to start visiting me again?” he asked quietly.

You felt your heart skip a beat as you looked at his sleepy face, the question making you fall even deeper in love with the adorable boy in front of you, if that could be even possible.

You nodded.

“Everyday, for as long as you want me near you.” you said quietly as well.

He shifted on the bed, snuggling closer to the blankets, and closed his eyes, letting sleep wash over him.

“Forever, then.” he mumbled, and, soon afterwards, began snoring softly.

[ohwaitimthewriter]

The Memory Keeper

Chapter 5: Legacy.

Pairing: Noa x human!reader

Warnings: Description of character death. Description of injuries. Some violence.

Words: 5.6k+ (like... how??)

Summarize: A woman, allowed to live as long as the virus keeps running through her body, living on autopilot for 260 years, is going to see her life takes a new turn, finding hope in something that might come to put an end to her wandering.

A/N: For the love of God, IT IS FINALLY HERE! And don't ask me how he knows about Picasso. He just knows. (Nope, I'm not talking about who you think I'm talking about). I hope you'll like it!

Enjoy your reading 😊

The Memory Keeper Masterlist / Planet of The Apes Masterlist

Narrating wasn't the problem. It never had been. Even if the tears always joined the party and your throat formed such tight knots that it became difficult to form the necessary words. You'd done it before, years ago, you'd done it.

"Where is he?" Noa had asked. "Dead." You had answered, in a whisper.

You were vigorously plucking, blade by blade, the grass you had been sitting on. Each blade pulled from the ground stood for every tear your body wanted to cry, but which you swallowed before they could form.

You didn't really understand why he wanted to know when you had told him you'd found a horse for him, that it would only take a few days, just a few days, and then they could both, he and Raka, go about their business.

So why did he want to know?

At that simple word, you noticed that his eyes were searching for something in the depths of his thoughts, and he suddenly crouched down in front of you, almost waiting for you to unravel the whole story of this Caesar. This Caesar whose name he had already heard through the masks, through Raka, but who made no sense to him when it came to you. This Caesar who had to be someone else. This Caesar who couldn't be the previous two.

Noa watched as you mentally counted the blades of grass you plucked from the ground and tossed a little further. Your eyes were telling a story. And with the short time he'd spent with you, he knew how rare it was. But this Caesar could obviously work miracles, and that made him curious.

You knew that Noa was tilting his head more and more, as you tried to lower yours even further to the ground, almost wishing you could dig a hole and bury yourself in it to prevent him from watching a film you'd like to forget. The heavy images in your head acted like weights, and gravity became a constant struggle not to curl up completely on the ground.

…

Dead.

And those heavy images that kept flashing by. Such heavy images…

〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️

You had seen him fall.

Maurice at his side, one hand desperately stroking Caesar's leg, almost as if for comfort, who had just collapsed on one side. The lifeless body. The soothed face.

The smile you had flashed just a second earlier dropped as your blurred vision took over, and you suddenly felt as if you were drowning.

Maurice sang a series of hoots in such distress that it didn't take long for the apes to realize what was happening, as Rocket rushed to Caesar's lifeless body. You had wanted to do the same, running to him, trying something, a cardiac massage, blowing air into his lungs, anything, but your legs wouldn't let you.

Because they knew better.

So they gave up on you. You ignored the pain of your knees hitting the rocky ground. Your eyes searched frantically for his as if he were suddenly going to open them and reassure everyone that he was all right. And the more you tried to see his green eyes again, the more your throat tightened into a knot so intense it hurt. The walls of your throat twisted with such force that swallowing became impossible.

He was going to open them. He had to. He must open them.

But seconds passed like minutes without anything happening, and a stab slowly sank into your chest, forcing you to tighten your arms around it as you refused to take your eyes off Caesar. The sharp pain coursing through your body took its time to twist your stomach, and a sob churned in your mouth, unable to escape.

If his eyes didn't open, maybe you'd see his ribcage rise. Maybe you'd catch a glimpse of his lungs, hidden behind the muscles of his chest, gasping for oxygen. Maybe you'd missed it, so if you lingered long enough, maybe you'd see his chest inflate, if only a little, just a tiny bit… " Inflate, please inflate" you addressed it in silence, wishing that his ribcage would somehow prove to you that he was still there.

But his thorax remained silent.

Then your eyes travelled back to his face. And there was no longer any doubt. His features, so familiarly hardened by a scowl that naturally stuck to him after all those years of fighting, protecting and providing for his clan, had relaxed into a serenity that had belonged only to Cornelia, only to his sons, to behold. A serenity that Caesar, on occasions when you respectfully teased the hell out him, would secretly grant you.

There could be no more doubt as your tears spilled down your cheeks, unable to move in front of Caesar, in front of the one who had decided to keep you safe.

〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️

On the rare days when you were reminded that you'd never see again the green eyes of the ape who had accepted you as one of his own, you wondered if there was anything you could have done. Maybe if you'd pushed harder on your leg muscles, even if it meant straining them, maybe you could have taken action and tried to bring him back to life. If you'd seen the crossbow bolt embedded deep between his ribs earlier, if you could have removed it… And as is often the case, with "ifs" a whole world could be remade.

You kept pecking at the blades of grass with your fingers, and as you didn't seem to want to delve any deeper into the story being told behind your veiled eyes, Noa decided that maybe you needed some help to talk.

"How?"

Noa was careful with his words, lest you shut down entirely and the emotions he could easily read on your face fade back into oblivion. It was easier when he could see your emotions, because he could adjust his attitude accordingly and skillfully get what he wanted.

You signed a single word to him, not finding the heart to pronounce it, "killed."

The wheels of his brain began to spin and Noa suddenly wondered if your Caesar hadn't been killed like his father had been, by the same apes who had plundered his village. The same apes he was trying to find to bring his clan back home, whatever the cost. The pieces of the puzzle were beginning to fit together in his head. He wanted to know the story, he was becoming almost impatient, perhaps lacking empathy for the loss you had suffered and which obviously affected you greatly, but he was eager to know if he was right in his train of thought.

His eyes were drawn to your hip, on which you seemed to be leaning less in your cross-legged position. He had the impression that it was higher up, while your posture was slightly tilted to the left, as if your pelvis on the right was raised by an inch or two.

What if you'd been injured when your Caesar died?

Noa moved his arm up, and the movement drew your eyes to follow his hand, slightly folded in on itself, as it pointed to your hip.

"Wounded." he observed. "When your Caesar died?"

Surely, if you confirmed his words, it would be one step closer to the accuracy of his hypothesis.

〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️

Screams. Piercing. Human. It didn't take overdeveloped hearing to hear them, and Koba gloated at the thought of a human suffering.

It hadn't been his first intent to go and check. Caesar had asked him to keep an eye on the outer perimeter of the forest to ensure there were no intruders, and that was exactly what he intended to do. At least, until those cries disturbed his watch.

A human female.

The agony that struck his sensitive eardrums was only a few hundred meters away, and he would have liked to have left her where she was, no matter what happened to her, the piercing pain of her groans made it clear that she would eventually lose her life, and consequently she was no threat to the colony.

Koba began to move from branch to branch when a deep voice, this time a male, bellowed angrily, and suddenly the sobs echoing through the valley seemed to be muffled.

This, however, was more annoying.

The leather around your wrists, head and ankles was sticking to your skin. Drops of sweat beaded on your forehead and puddled around the strap that sheared your skull. You felt like your skin was burning under the leather edges and you swore that the moment they took it off, your skin would stick to the torturous object, peeling off like the skin of an orange. You could only grit your teeth at the thought.

Tears mixed freely with sweat and you weren't sure which one was burning your eyes. All you knew was that the drops were tumbling down your temples and pooling in the hollow of your ear before cascading in a tiny waterfall down your lobe and crashing onto the surgical table that supported your body.

You stared up at the blurred ceiling above you, and even if you wanted to look away, the leather strap around your head prevented you from making any movement.

It would soon be over.

You reassured yourself as best you could, the scientists' words still engraved in your mind:

"What if… we combined?" One of them had suggested as if you weren't already there in the room. "Combined?" asked his colleague. "Dislocated knee and fractured hip." Explained the first. "We know about dislocation. The tissues regenerate in 2 days if we put the limb back where it belongs, and in 4 days if we let it hang."

The second explained, laughing as he recalled an experiment that was successful for him, but a disaster for you, "The other day, Weston even had the idea of tying a rope to her dislocated elbow to see if the pull exerted would make healing longer or impossible, and this dumbass almost succeeded in making her lose her elbow!" he sneered. "She must have had a tough time of it!" The first man's eyes widened, but he couldn't help chuckling. "She's being paid for it." The second man shrugged.

Paid for. As if you'd had any choice. That day when the ALZ-113 test came back positive. That day when, to the utter disbelief of everyone in the room, including you, they'd gone ballistic, because how could it be? How could you be positive for this virus without any symptoms? Without degrading yourself mentally? Physically? How could you still stand up and not cough your lungs out?

You were only supposed to be immune. You were part of the group that had been commandeered for several months to try and understand why some people couldn't be infected. This group of people selected after lengthy observation following exposure to the virus.

For 3 months. 3 months with a virus test at the end of each.

1 month of exposure to the virus.

No symptoms. Test. Test negative.

1 additional month.

Still no symptoms. Test negative.

1 last month.

Free of symptoms. Test.

Positive.

And the panic was on.

Human vileness hardly surprised you anymore, but these scientists were bound to receive some awards for their cruelty.

"Okay, here's what I propose, we try the hip dislocation but we're going to offer a bit of a challenge to the body." The second man replied. "A challenge?" The first one asked. "You're new to this program, so you don't know everything yet, but we've taken it to the next level, no longer trying to find out what the virus regenerates or how it does it…"

The second scientist then grabbed a hammer from the makeshift workbench set up earlier, and your pupils suddenly dilated at the sight of the tool swinging at the end of a string, dangling from the scientist's finger. Your blood ran cold and tension began to contract all your muscles, unconsciously preparing for the shock.

"We're looking for the limits." The scientist concluded, gripping the hammer handle firmly. "I… I'll get the anesthetic." The first scientist stated, however the more experienced one stopped him. "It only wastes the product. Remember, the virus regenerates any cell it considers sick or dead."

Oh, and how you wished with all your being that you could just fight back and rip off those straps whose leather had become all too familiar to your skin. Today, it was going to hurt. You knew it, it wasn't new, it always hurt and your only line of defense was to grit your teeth and pray that it would happen quickly. But that hammer. Oh you could only imagine, no, your body already knew how much raw, stabbing pain it would cause. Even a stab was more bearable. Even before the flat of the hammer made contact with the targeted part, you could feel your bones cracking and shattering. Each splinter of bone would sink into your muscles, your inner epidermis, and why not shear off the more protuberant veins running along your thigh and hip.

You could feel your muscles tensing in anticipation, to the point of twisting the joints of your pelvis, as if your body were trying to hide as far as possible those bones already well protected under the layer of muscle, fat and skin that formed a bulwark between them and the outside world.

The two scientists must have thought you were a ridiculous worm, squirming to get your body away from their painfully intrusive hands, but the straps were doing their job. The tinkling of the straps, as you tried to remove your wrists from their grip, drew the attention of the scientists, who stared at you scornfully. A ridiculous worm that could not escape the boot that would crush it.

The first impact ripped through your flesh and your face contorted into a grimace, a taste of iron spread through your mouth and the pressure you exerted on your jaw to keep it shut sent a shower of needles down your cheeks and up to your temples, where the blood was pounding a beat that made you wish you could bang your head on the floor.

You didn't want to give them the pleasure of hearing your screams. Not now, not on the first blow.

If they wanted to hear them, they'd have to come and get them.

〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️

It may have been a long time ago, but the memory remained imperishable. How could it be when it was responsible for your constant limping.

Your body had been through a lot. But it had always been able to repair itself, patch itself up and regenerate every part, every cell, every bone in such an admirable way that you sometimes doubted you'd ever really been harmed.

But there was still this hip. A little wobbly, a little too rigid. And the screams. Oh, the screams, they had finally got them, and the delight on their faces left a bitter, vomit-inducing taste in your mouth.

In your fervent desire to strip the earth of its blades of grass, you had grabbed a flower stem and were working hard to remove each petal. A quick tug, a hammer blow, another quick tug, another hammer blow. Eighteen. You had counted eighteen.

The silent conversation you were having with yourself was mind-boggling to Noa. If he'd known earlier that fixing your frame was going to give him such an outpouring of expression and life from you, he'd have taken it upon himself to break it and fix it in the process much sooner.

If he had done so, maybe he'd never have had to deal with the wave… no, the tsunami of emotions he had never really been ready to receive. It was yet another piece of the puzzle he was missing. How could an Echo be both so unexpressive and yet overflowing with feelings like a river after a big storm?

Noa almost wanted to come closer, still crouching down, wanting to force you to answer his question as if he could pull the wool over your eyes with his mere proximity. "Tell me I'm right." That was what he wanted most when he hadn't even shared his train of thought with you. Because if he was right, your behavior would have found a logic.

The despair of seeing your world crumble helplessly.

The guilt of not having been able to protect.

The shame of not having been strong enough.

Emptiness, faced with the inert body of a loved one.

This would make sense to Noa because he himself had felt them. But his entire pyramid of thought collapsed in a single one of your sentences.

"No, before I even knew him."

If Noa could have cut into your skull to see what was going on inside, you were sure he would have. Noa squinted, trying to make sense of a story for which he had only scraps of words.

"Where's his clan?" Noa attempted another question and to his surprise, your answer was quick to ring in his ears. "I don't know, I left."

Oh.

It would have taken a trained eye to notice, but Noa puffed out his chest slightly, proud to have asked the right question. You'd had a life before living with his clan for a while, at least, long enough to have such feelings when your Caesar died.

And then, his line of thought came to an abrupt end.

OH.

You. An Echo. Living with a clan of apes.

An Echo and apes, sharing the same living space.

〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️

Watching you go back and forth between the arms of the conscious and unconscious was quite enthralling for Koba.

Even though he could feel the bile rising in his throat, he had to admit that you had put up a good fight. Your human vanity had been far too great to succumb so quickly to your abusers. If the men in white had come to a tragic end under Koba's murderous fists and fangs, he hadn't been shy about admiring for a while the sadistic game those men had started with you.

There was nothing more delectable than watching a human suffer, and Koba was quite in awe of humans' boundless creativity when it came to torture.

He could just as easily kill you. It would have been easy in such a vulnerable state, but where would the fun be if you didn't see him do it?

The terror he'd been able to read in the eyes of these men dressed in white had only been an appetizer, like the hazelnut that crunches under the tooth to whet the appetite.

The screams. It was a feast he'd relished in. Koba took care of it. He'd wanted to hear them scream like he'd heard you rip your lungs out in pain.

Koba squinted at the thought. No, it had nothing to do with you. It had nothing to do with seeing your hands and feet bound and pinned to a table the way he had been. It had nothing to do with the fact that the current state of your pelvis looked like a Picasso painting and that the scars, if and only if, he let you survive, would match those scattered across his body.

No.

He'd wanted to hear them scream because they were men wearing white. Humans who had mutilated him. Because they were human.

A whine.

Koba turned his gaze to your face. And what a satisfying sight it was. He could read on your every feature the pain that had circulated through all your cells, a pain he imagined to be so deep that it had left its marks on the skin of your contorted face. Even in the unconscious, he could see the repetitive twitching of your body trying to digest the hammer blows it had repeatedly received.

To him, it was a painting, a work of art, and he might have wished he'd inflicted it on you himself, but not to observe other human beings, your bloodthirsty species, inflicting such suffering on one of their own would have been a real waste.

How ironic. As human as you were, it didn't stop them. No better than a laboratory rat… No better than the ape he was in the eyes of those men wearing white.

How ironic to let you live only to see you realize how insignificant you are to your own species. To the species that claimed to be superior. The idea of you, a human, realizing that even this had been taken away from you by these other humans, no matter who you were, what you had or hadn't done, was so pleasing to Koba's vengeance that he yanked each of the straps that held you to the table.

And Caesar? Oh Caesar will see. He'll understand Koba.

〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️

"Raka… told me a story."

The hesitation in Noa's voice caught your attention and you slowly began to forget to peck at the blades of grass at your feet. What story? Your gaze, lost in your memories, landed on Noa, curious to hear what he had to tell you.

Noa found himself fascinated by the stubbornness of your irises to continue the story you were telling yourself, while at the same time showing your sudden interest in his words. He felt as if he were observing the depths of a river, its swirls warping the flora and fauna moving beneath the surface, with only the desire to plunge his face underwater and let him see clearly the life that lay there, without filters, without waves, without murky waters.

"Apes and… Echoes" he pointed to you with a wave of his hand. "A very long time ago… would have been like… you and your Caesar."

Noa watched your facial features pull back into a confused scowl. You said nothing. He wondered if you were inviting him to go on with his explanation or if you were silently passing incredulous judgment on a potential distant truth that he himself had felt, when Raka had told him stories of a past older than the elders of his village. After all, even if a clan of apes had shared a part of your life, it was very far from being standard practice in this world, and quite the contrary, you may have been the only Echo in the present world to have lived in such a way. It would come as no surprise to be suspicious of this potential truth, but Noa was sure that you were living proof that Raka might have been right about that distant past.

But to you, something was wrong. And you felt your neurons searching for connections that didn't yet exist, because it was more than obvious from your own experience that apes and humans had lived side by side. It wasn't an unknown story, or even a harebrained one, it was your story.

〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️

Perched on the edge of a boulder, your legs dangling in the air above the rest of the colony, you were quietly watching the apes go about their daily lives.

A month had passed.

A month, but it had really only been a week since you'd ventured outside the hut you'd been brought to to help your body heal.

Something was lurking in the pit of your stomach, a feeling you could hardly identify because it was so unstable. It grew inside of you and spread like water from a dam that had just burst, although you didn't know if you should really welcome it and let it settle in your veins so that it could nourish each and every one of your cells. And whatever that feeling was, whether positive, negative or a bit of both, it kept growing and trying to find its true nature.

This feeling had begun to feed on what it saw around you in the three weeks since you had regained awareness of your surroundings.

Distrust, in the green and golden eyes of some of the apes who passed by your hut.

Benevolence, in the leathery hands that took care to check on the progress of your healing.

Curiosity, in the gruff words that asked you questions to which you didn't have all the answers.

Hatred, in the growls that hissed through the sharp teeth shown to you when you dared a glance outside your hut.

And, above all, empathy, in the gentle, patient gestures made to ensure that no more pain would be caused to you as your body worked crudely to create bones and flesh previously ripped to shreds.

Three weeks. That's how long it had taken for you to be able to put one foot on the ground again and for your hip to weld to your pelvis. Your body had done what it could with what it had left. You knew you'd never walk the way you used to. You didn't need an X-ray or a CAT scan to feel the bone plate that had fastened the bone in your pelvis to the bone at the top of your femur.

You wondered what the scientists would call this new bone, their future pride and joy. Maybe Weston would take all the credit, after all, even if he wasn't the designer, he was the head of the program.

And this feeling, which continued its perpetual development, suddenly twisted your stomach. They couldn't give it a name if you didn't come back.

You snapped out of your thoughts when a low, guttural grunt drew your gaze to an ape crouching beside you.

Caesar. That was how he had introduced himself when you had regained consciousness.

You smiled at him before focusing your admiring gaze once again on the goings-on below.

"It's… amazing what you've done."

A low vibration emerged from his chest in a dull chuckle, and you didn't need to see it to know he was proud of the work he'd done.

"Not I, all of us."

You nodded keenly, but couldn't help feeling that he was being too modest, for if it hadn't been for him, all those apes would never have had the life they'd got here.

This plunged you into a form of nostalgia for a time that had not yet arrived, but which was taking shape a little more day by day. A time when humans would die out and the apes would continue to thrive, and you couldn't yet imagine to what extent.

"The world is going to change so much…" Your voice seemed lost in a distant future when the realization hit you. You turned sharply towards him, your right hip screaming insults through your nerve endings, "No, what I mean is…" you rushed to reply while massaging the painful part of your pelvis in a silent apology, "it's really fantastic what's happening to you all and it's a great thing but…" You paused in your clumsy explanation before resuming, your eyes busy looking at your fidgeting hands, resigned, "Sorry, that was stupid."

You suddenly looked up as Caesar took hold of your wrist. Cautiously, he stretched your arm slightly towards him, placing the palm of your open hand skywards. His grip wasn't meant to be aggressive; in fact, he was silently and gently showing you the best way to ask for forgiveness. You felt his leathery fingers glide confidently over your palm and you were so taken aback that Caesar, after accepting your apology, had to gently push your hand towards you to indicate that the exchange was over.

"The world… has already… changed." His baritone voice resonated right into your ribcage, and you observed him place beside you a wristband adorned with what looked like polished white stone. "But you can… learn."

The more you looked at the wristband, the stranger those little white stones seemed to you. You hardly dared to touch it, and you cast a questioning glance at Caesar, who was cautiously observing your reaction.

"Wha… what's this?" "Bones." He replied simply, pointing to your pelvis.

The bones from your pelvis. It took you a minute to digest the information, but that was all it took to understand.

The small pieces of bone had been carefully cleaned and gloriously adorned around this wristband woven from a bamboo stalk. Your bones, which had been bruised and abused in human hands, had been reassembled and treated with respect in the hands of an ape. A form of silent agreement that said: if humans have torn a part of you away, apes, if you were willing, could have it back to you.

〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️

Unconsciously, your hand had slipped around your wrist where the bracelet had rested there for years before being lost. Your fingertips remembered the asymmetrical outlines of the polished bones and the way the woven bamboo rods rolled across your skin, and it was hard to forget them after so many years of playing with them between your fingers.

It had been a long time since you'd thought about it, and if it had still been there, maybe you could have shown it to Noa and confessed that Raka was right, that it wasn't "would have been" but simply "was".

The issue wasn't to relate, but…

And you tilted your head to one side. Your eyes crinkled into a thousand questions that you couldn't formulate yourself and that remained on the tip of your tongue as if no words in any language could really translate them into something audible.

"H-How…?" You couldn't finish your question. "That's what Raka said… when I told him about the masks."

Noa was not sure whether he should tell you about the masks, or even why he had brought himself to your doorstep. And you'd never gotten him used to that intense stare of yours in four days. Now it was your turn to want to open his skull like you would open a Tupperware to see what was hidden inside.

You stared at him intently and caught his gaze turning to Raka, who was nearby looking after his horse.

Noa was looking for some form of escape, or even comfort, from Raka, who he felt was best placed to explain these things to you. But Raka wasn't looking at him. He couldn't help him out of the mess Noa had gotten himself into.

Noa stumbled over his words, not knowing where to start, but he sensed that you wouldn't help him collect his thoughts and translate them into words. But if you didn't want to help him make them audible, yourself far too confused and bewildered, he could always sign them to you.

"Long before, another Caesar… A different one from yours, too far away to be yours" And you straightened up, suddenly wanting to get closer to Noa, silently taken aback by his movements that you were slowly deciphering. "Raka said, the masks, they took his name." Noa went on signing, amplifying his gestures to make sure you understood. "To twist his words."

And the signs that followed left you speechless.

"Ape do not kill ape." Noa began, before going on with gestures seeming like an echo from the valleys of a mountain range overshadowing bygone days.

And as you stared at Noa, your irises detailing his every move in their sockets, you finally noticed.

How had you not noticed before? Surely too busy looking away, too busy drowning in lists, sinking into activities that had kept you bodily functional, too busy wanting them both to go away.

The scar on his right pectoral. Your vision blurred a little more at the signs you knew by heart, the signs Caesar had told you over and over again until they became second nature. All you could see were his hands, close to his chest, his scar in the background, and for a fraction of a second you could see him, Caesar.

Caesar signed to you the words he was so proud of, puffing out his chest like an insolent child after getting the top mark in an exam, so proud of the words he'd invented that he let out a confident growl, straight from his ribcage.

"Apes, together, strong." You whispered Caesar's words in the rhythm he was so accustomed to signing them.

And a tear beaded down your cheek as you looked up into Caesar's face, realizing at first glance that it was really only Noa.

Noa observed your cheeks gradually covering with tears, not really understanding what had just gone through your head, but he too was speechless. How did you know his words? And before he could ponder the question any further, your barely audible voice forced him to focus on what you were about to reveal, his first name rolling off your lips.

"Noa… There is no other Caesar."

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Tags list:

@callsignwidow

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@analuw

[andi-kook]

DEAD KIDS ✦ Chapter 2

SUMMARY: A group of university students kidnaps their rich batchmate for ransom. However, things take a darker turn when the new recruit grows a dangerous obsession with the captive and all hell breaks loose.

PAIRING: Jungkook x Fem!Reader

GENRE: Slow burn Yandere, Crime AU

WARNINGS: Not suitable for audiences below 18. Please do not engage with the story if you are underage. WATCH OUT FOR: dark and morally corrupt characters, foul language, mention of Catholicism, slut shaming and objectification of women, mention of inappropriate relationship between professor/student, mentions and depiction of “rape” and “rape fantasy” throughout the story, masturbation, threats, MC has an NSFW blog with hard kinks and fantasies, non consensual touching. Overall, this is a disturbing chapter – based on my standards – so if you are not comfortable with these topics, do not proceed. Inspired by the film, Dead Kids (2019).

TAGLIST: @hopeworldsupremacy @aliajomarie011 @ackercute @tatumrileyslover @ane102 @jjk174 @dontcallmeelle @merrygo1427 @taekritimin123 @r1r111 @gguksfilter @coralmusicblaze

If I didn’t tag you – either your blog doesn’t exist according to Tumblr or because you did not show your age in your blog. Thank you!

ANDI: I send my love to the beautiful souls who sent me asks about Dead Kids as well as these equally beautiful souls – @.taekritimin123 @.hellbornsworld @.tinytangerineangel @.namjesusdaughter – for commenting on Chapter 1. I cannot express just how much I appreciate your words. I would have tagged you directly, but I wasn’t sure if you would want that. But I wanted to show my appreciation.

WORD COUNT: 3K

“Why did you really want to take her?” Jungkook asks Namjoon as they sit and eat the ramen he cooked around the living area. Beside him, Yoongi and Hoseok are fast asleep, the latter clutching onto the former’s arm like it’s his plushie while the former has his head thrown against the headrest.

Namjoon, who is seated on the other makeshift sofa, gulps down the soup from his ramen before letting out a satisfied sigh and wipes his mouth with the back of his mouth. “How many times do we have to say that we kidnapped Y/N for ransom?”

“I’m not stupid, Namjoon,” Jungkook says. “We’re already tied to this shit until the ransom drop. The least you can do is be upfront on why you did this in the first place. I’m not taking a bullet for you or anyone.”

The buzz-cut haired man leans his back against the sofa, which unlike his premium one, is built from scratch by Jungkook using old wood and cases of beers around the warehouse. He gazes at Jungkook for a while, studying him while swimming in his own thoughts. The tattooed man wonders if Namjoon is contemplating telling him the truth. He wonders if the two sleeping men beside him also knew the truth.

They claim to have been friends since the fourth grade, but does time really make you know a person inside out?

“My father didn’t used to be the way he is now – corrupt. Growing up, I looked up to him because of how honest and upstanding he was as a cop. I knew he did some off-the-books shit, but he still had a moral compass, still had lines he didn’t cross. But then he met Y/N’s father, Kim Seokjin, when I was ten. Suddenly, everything changed,” Namjoon narrates, letting out a scoff as he shakes his head and rubs his palms on his baggy jeans. “He went from being a great husband and father to my mother and I to a complete asshole. We didn’t have religion but after meeting Kim Seokjin, we were suddenly Catholics, attending church with his family every Sunday. I was baptized and Kim Seokjin became my godfather. But the worst part was seeing him erase all the lines he drew and swore never to cross when he began to use his position as a detective and then eventually sergeant to now the chief of the entire police force in Seoul to protect Kim Seokjin and his criminal empire.”

Jungkook inhales deeply. “So, kidnapping Y/N is you taking on revenge against Kim Seokjin for corrupting your father? It is personal. It’s never about the money?”

“Of course, the money is important and integral to the plan. But yes, you are correct – I want to avenge my father from Kim Seokjin by hitting him where I know it will hurt the most: his only daughter, Y/N.”

“You promised that we are not going to hurt her,” Jungkook counters immediately.

Namjoon doesn’t say anything.

“Namjoon,” Jungkook clicks his tongue. “If you do that – what makes you different than Kim Seokjin?”

“Why are you so protective of her?” Namjoon asks pointedly. “What? Just because she gave you a boner, you’re suddenly fucking in love with her? Don’t think I didn’t notice. We all did. Yoongi is right – drop the morally upright act, Jeon. You’re just as demented as we are. The moment you agreed to this plan, you’re just as fucked up.”

The sudden call out makes Jungkook turn crimson and Namjoon smirks, placing his leg over the other. “Don’t worry – unlike you, I don’t judge people. To each our own. If shit like that turns you on, then that’s on you. Why don’t you take the opportunity to act on it?”

His eyes widen, shocked and disgusted. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

Jungkook knows exactly what Namjoon is talking about, but he is completely aghast at the insinuation.

The de facto leader only widens his smirk, pulling out his packet of cigarettes and lighter from the front pocket of his large, oversized coat. “You know what I’m talking about, Jeon. A pretty naked girl tied to a chair in your warehouse – it’s perfectly normal to feel aroused by such sight. We won’t judge you if you just get it over and done with.”

“You’re more than fucked up,” Jungkook hisses, face flushed and veins popping out on his neck. “I’m not going to fucking touch her.”

Namjoon lights the cigarette in between his lips. Then, he inhales, and smoke leaves his lips as he replies, “Why not? Y/N is a dirty slut who fucks her married professor with kids her age after church and dinner every Sunday night and more – I bet you all my cut that she’s not going to resist you because she’s probably into fucking someone having their own way with her. No, in fact, I can tell you she’s going to enjoy it.”  

Jungkook feels hot. Images of your naked trembling body and whimpering pleas filling his mind and ears.

“She has a blog, you know? A secret blog where she writes these fantasies and kinks she has. Posts her nudes on there too. Do you wanna know what is one fantasy she keeps on writing about?”

“No, I really don’t,” Jungkook says through gritted teeth.

“It’s a rape fantasy, Jungkook. What a fucking dirty slut she is, right? I bet she’s fucking wet right now at the thought, at the anticipation that one of us or all of us are going to have our ways with her. I bet she’s aching to be touched. I bet she wants you to rape her, Jungkook. So, why not just do it?”

He stands up in a jolt, hitting his knee on the makeshift table he made from old tires and steel roof and stammering some excuse that he needs to go the bathroom or air – he can’t remember. Jungkook finds himself in his room, back pressed against the door. His shirt sticks to his skin because of the sweat, and he takes it off, leaving it discarded on the floor. Namjoon’s words mixed with the flashing images of your perky nipples, smooth skin, sound of your whimpers, pleas, your smell – it makes him hard. Harder than he’s ever been.

Before he knows it, Jungkook is unbuttoning his jeans, pulling it down along with his boxers, his erection springing free. He spits on his palm before he begins stroking his length, shuddering at the touch, making his mouth dry. He presses the back of his head against the door, eyes closed as he imagines you on your knees – like you were with the professor – those lips around his shaft, head bobbing as you suck him dry. He imagines hearing your moans, imagines his dick hitting the back of your throat as you go deeper and beg him to fuck your mouth like a whore. Jungkook’s stroking himself faster. He imagines hearing you gag as he fucks your mouth, not stopping even when you’re clearly suffocating. Then, he cums, toes curling and a guttural groan escaping his lips.

As he comes back from his high, Jungkook stares at the white sticky substance covering his hand and cock. He just jerked off to you, a girl they kidnapped, and he knows it won’t be the last time.

“Where the fuck have you been?” Yoongi hisses at him the moment he comes back from his room, showered and changed into more comfortable clothes.

Jungkook deliberately ignores the stare of Namjoon and flops on the seat beside Hoseok who is eating the remaining ramen. “Why the fuck do you care?”

“I’m going to punch this kid, I swear to God,” Yoongi grumbles, rolling his eyes. “We’re making the ransom call, you dumb fuck. Or rather, you are.”

Jungkook furrows his brows. “What? Why me?”

“Every one of us here has already encountered Y/N’s father at least once. The man remembers everyone he encounters. You’re the only exception,” Namjoon explains as he hands you a black phone. “It’s a burner phone, untraceable. I took it from my dad. And this is what you’re going to say – make sure you sound intimidating at least. Put it on speaker too.”

Namjoon places his phone on the makeshift table and Jungkook clicks his tongue. “The deal was you only use my warehouse. So far, you got me doing far more than that.”

“Do you want 25 million or not?” Yoongi asks, crossing his arms over his chest. “Cos if you do, you better start calling Kim Seokjin.”

I’m going to punch you soon, Jungkook tells himself before he unlocks the phone and goes to the contact list where Kim Seokjin’s name is the only one listed. He takes a deep breath, going over the script on Namjoon’s phone before clicking on the contact and putting the call on speaker. The ringing sound echoes throughout the warehouse. The tension is palpable again, like it was back in the car earlier that night.

After a few more rings, Kim Seokjin’s voice fills the warehouse. It’s light but a hint of roughness and irritation is noticeable right away.

“Who is this?”

Jungkook licks his lips as he read the script in front of him. “We have your daughter. If you want to see her alive, prepare 100 million won and bring it to 2020 this Friday night. Otherwise, the next time you’ll see her is on the news, dead.”

Hoseok covers his mouth to keep himself from laughing while Yoongi stares hard at the phone. Namjoon, on the other hand, is relaxed on his seat, smoking.

“You sound young, boy,” Seokjin remarks. “You are not the first person to call me in the middle of the night asking for ransom. Do you really have any idea what you’re doing?”

Namjoon motions for him to repeat what he just said.

“If you want to see her alive, prepare 100 mill—,”

“Don’t you think I would be able to find my daughter faster than you could ever imagine? Do you know who you’re talking to?”

That triggers Jungkook. He’s been hearing that question – that discrimination his entire life and he’s sick of it. He’s fucking sick of it.

“I don’t give a fuck who you are. Either you give us 100 million in exchange for your whore of a daughter or I will personally make you watch as we do everything we want with her, make you watch as she begs you to make it stop, make you listen as she takes her last breath before I fucking slit her throat so deep her head nearly decapitates. You have until Friday night – and you better make sure the police don’t get involved. Don’t fucking ask me who the fuck you are again.”

He ends the call, gripping the phone tightly.

“What the fuck was that? Why the hell didn’t you stick to the script?! Are you trying to get us all a one way ticket to prison?!” Yoongi exclaims.

“Did you not hear what he’s saying? He caught on that we are fucking amateurs. I saved our asses – you should be fucking grateful,” Jungkook snaps, clenching his jaw. “If you didn’t want me to do the call, maybe the three of you should have done it yourselves. Fucking useless bastards.”

“Hey! What did you say?” Hoseok stands, pushing Jungkook by placing his hands on his chest. “Who are you calling useless, huh?”

“Who do you think?” He scoffs.

“Let’s fucking kill this son of a bitch, Hobi.”

“Gladly.”

“Enough,” Namjoon says sternly. “No one is going to kill anyone. Not amongst ourselves. What Jungkook did is right, Yoongi. Jungkook saved our asses. And you,” He turns to the long-haired man, glaring at him. “Mind your fucking tone and language with us. We’re not fucking useless. Remember that we recruited you. Not the other way around. If anyone should be grateful to someone, it’s you. We’re the reason you’ll get out of this shit hole.”

Nobody says a word.

“It’s getting late. Let’s gather here tomorrow after our classes. Just go about your usual days until the drop. Don’t be suspicious,” The de facto leader reminds. “Jungkook, keep an eye out, okay? Don’t forget to check in on our little friend from time to time. Make sure she’s still breathing.” He smirks as he pats his shoulder on his way out.

Yoongi and Hoseok follow suit. Once Jungkook hears Namjoon driving off his – rather his aunt’s – property, he resigns to the sofa behind him. He buries his face into his hands. Five days. You’ll be stuck with him at the warehouse for five fucking days. Granted, he has classes to attend to, so he won’t be at home all day, but he’s sure you won’t leave his mind wherever he goes.

The phone in his hand buzzes and he stares at the new notification on the screen – a text message from an unknown number. Jungkook unlocks the phone, goes to the messaging app, and clicks on the new text.

avirgins1ut on tumblr if you wanna read some things tonight

“Fuck you, Namjoon,” Jungkook mutters under his breath. However, when he goes to his room, grabs his shitty phone and opens his data – he installs the app despite knowing it will consume almost all the remaining gigabytes he has left.

Jungkook lies down on his bed and creates his profile. He doesn’t bother customizing it, going straight to your blog which is all black and hot pink. Instantly, he’s drawn to your profile picture – a simple mirror shot of you hiding your bare chest with your arms, head tilt slightly to the side and a black panty covering your cunt. He swallows the lump in his throat as he scrolls down, reading your pinned post:

“Hey. You can call me Angel. I’m 23 years old. This blog is filled with all my fantasies and kinks, sometimes my nudes. Feel free to send me yours too.

My kinks: cnc, free use, somnophilia, spit, slapping, marking, choking, daddy, and more.

My favorite fantasies: rape play, kidnapped, kept as sex slave, knife/gun play, forced gangbang, and more – why don’t you help me unlock those? DMs and asks open for all your threats and nudes.

Update: already got myself a master/daddy. Asks and messages are off.”

As he scrolls further down your blog, Jungkook doesn’t even realize he already has his hand wrapped around his dick as he masturbates to your the latest fantasy you wrote albeit months ago.

I can’t stop masturbating to this dark fantasy of mine – being raped by someone so brutally after they kidnap me. How they would keep me chained to the bed, always naked so they can easily rape me whenever and however they want. They would mock me whenever I would tell them to stop (“You shouldn’t have worn those skirts if you didn’t want to be raped. But you did. So, this isn’t rape. You were clearly asking for this like some depraved filthy bitch in heat. You’re fucking loving this, don’t you? Isn’t this what you want?”) and choke me as they pound into my wet and clenching pussy relentlessly. They would slap and spit on my face, abusing my cunt for hours until I’m full of theirs and their friends’ cum whom they called to let them have a taste of their new toy.

They would rape me day in and out until my body gets so used to it that I start asking for it – crying and begging to be fucked. “Shh, angel, daddy’s going to fuck you, okay? Don’t cry.” Slowly, I would forget all my autonomy and identity, wholly submitting myself to them because I was never my own in the first place – I was always theirs.

“Fuck, Y/N!” His entire body shakes as he cums again. Jungkook can’t stop – he wants to read more, see more as you posted a picture of your cum covered cunt at the end of the post and he imagines it’s his. But he gets a notification that he is out of data and Jungkook slams his phone on his bed, frustrated beyond bounds. He is still hard. He still wants to see more of you, read more of your fantasies.

Namjoon’s words echo in his mind. I bet she’s fucking wet right now at the thought, at the anticipation that one of us or all of us are going to have our ways with her. I bet she’s aching to be touched. I bet she wants you to rape her, Jungkook. So, why not just do it?”

And before he knows it – he is standing across from your limp body. You’re still unconscious – sack over your head, tied and bound on the metal chair. Jungkook walks towards you, gently touching your shoulders to see if you would react but you don’t. He bites his lower lip as his eyes fall on your naked chest. He reaches down to trace its curves before ultimately cupping one breast in hand, fondling, squeezing, twisting the nipple and pinching it. No response.

He begins to stroke himself as he continues to fondle your breasts. This is wrong, but why does it feel so good?

“F-Fucking slut, you’re asking for this,” Jungkook hisses through his teeth. He’s not going to last any longer – not when those perky nipples are so inviting and moments later, he cums all over tits. He’s panting, an exhilarating feeling he hasn’t felt before rising within him as he stares at your cum covered chest. He swallows, breathing heavily. Should he stop now or keep going? He doesn’t have data anymore, but he does have the real thing right in front of him. But you twitch and he jumps in surprise. Suddenly, the realization of his actions washes upon him. He feels a coil in his stomach. What has he done? He scrambles out of the room and dash straight to the bathroom where he extensively washes his hand and splashes cold water on his face. Then, he throws himself on his thin mattress, staring at the ceiling as he pants. Namjoon is right – he’s just as fucked up as they are.

CHAPTER 3 is coming soon.

TAGLIST: Wanna be part of Dead Kids’ taglist? Fill out this form and don’t forget to read the short note in order for me to tag you.

ANDI: I do not condone the behaviors exhibited in this story. The characters of Jungkook, Namjoon, Yoongi and Hoseok do not reflect who they are in real life. Fanfiction is just fanfiction. I have no schedule in writing – I write whenever I can. Please try to refrain from sending asks about updates (or at least be kind and polite about it) and let me know your feedbacks instead as they help a lot in motivation and inspiration! 🦉

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © ANDI-KOOK 2024. NO PART OF THIS STORY MAY BE REPRODUCED, TRANSLATED, MODIFIED, EDITED, REPOSTED AND THE LIKES WITHOUT THE AUTHOR’S PERMISSION.

[thebomb-thebird-andtheburntbitch]

one of kaeya's favorite past times is finding you in the library where you had most likely holed yourself away between shelves lined with books. he'd find you sitting on the floor surrounded by books you had opened, read the first chapter of or maybe the summary before placing it in piles of 'interesting' and 'not interested'. he'd always stroll up and come as close as your barricade of books could allow him before placing his palms on his hips and looking down at you. it was always his boots invading your vision or his shadow that caught your attention and made you look at him. he'd always have the same grin on his face- one of amusement and endearment at seeing you in the middle of a literary mess. if lisa were to see you among so many strewn-out books she may just make you rearrange all the shelves- but you're always careful.

'what treasures have you found today?'

he'd always ask you and he'd bend to sit leisurely on the floor in front of you as you scooch the books between you both away so he can shuffle closer to you. you'd show off the books you think you might read and explain the general gist of them before trying to narrow your decisions. at some point kaeya became crucial in these times since he had taken up the habit of reading them with you. or rather, he had asked you to read to him once before and now he gets offended if you read without him there to listen to it.

you didn't know if he liked reading but was too lazy to pick up his own book. or maybe he didn't have the time to read himself. or maybe he enjoyed the thrill of a compelling tale. or if just maybe he liked the sound of your voice. and he didn't plan to justify you with a straight answer- as usual. he especially liked when both him and klee were present for a reading session- but those times were mostly reserved for children's books short enough to occupy klee's attention span and satisfy kaeya's need to hear your voice.

kaeya would help you place back the books you decided to pass on and would accompany you to check out the one or two you would be taking with you. the pleased look on your face as you left the library with him and your new reading material always made a soft smile curl on his lips. if you were happy- he was too, or that's what the feeling swirling in his chest always told him.

you would always also stay the night at his place when you read to him. he'd invite you over, have dinner, and maybe a drink or two before moving to his room and sitting on his bed. he'd lean on your shoulder as you read, reading along with you silently as you spoke and if he was feeling extra sassy, he'd correct you on a word you mispronounced or laugh at your tone when voicing characters.

'it's for better immersion!'

'yeah, okay. that doesn't mean it's not hilarious.'

'well fine, i'll just speak normally. enjoy your boring, normal narrator.'

'that wouldn't be any fun now would it?'

he'd always fall asleep first. the weight on your shoulder would increase and slump until he's almost sliding down your chest. you'd always catch his head and properly lay him down, but you weren't going anywhere either. kaeya would always have a hold of your arm, or his legs clutched around your own, or clinging around your waist after you lay him down.

you'd bookmark your page, feeling guilty if you read along more without him before shutting off the nearby lamp you used for light and becoming engulfed in darkness as you tried to get comfortable in his bed with him.

kaeya always slept better with your bedtime stories and warmth to keep everything that plagues his mind away from him. in the morning, as thanks, he'd always get you breakfast or a coffee.

'thanks.' he'd tell you

'for what?'

'for everything.'

he wont ever elaborate, but just having you close helps him in many more ways than you know. it wasn't just about reading to him, but keeping him company and keeping him grounded. plus, the nightmares never found him since he would fall asleep to the sound of a wonderful tale told by your voice.

he also always remembers to tell you to return the books on time. he doesn't want lisa to hunt you down- his arm still hurts from the last time he returned a book late.

a/n: not proofread soz lol- have a blurb

[makethosenarratorsfight]

UNRELIABLE NARRATORS; SIDE B

Yoon Jongwoo Propaganda:

So technically not a narrator but he's the main char/protagonist who we follow from majority of the show. But, he is slowly losing his mind due to: fear, paranoia, ptsd, being drugged, and lack of sleep. Big big spoiler for the last episode but we originally see him only killing in self defense and the main villian being the one to kill off/brutally murder the henchpeople BUT later on after the fight it comes out that HE was the one who killed them and he actually was even talking to himself at one point. It throws the whole episode into a new light and then makes u wo der how much of the rest of the show may have also been different than what we originally saw. How innocent is he??

Kim Dokja Propaganda:

I haven't read orv but he's fucking gotta be from what I've osmosised

He tries to remove his emotions out of the narrative soooo much, literally the most repressed guy ever. Okay so for context orv is about how this guy, Kim Dokja, has been the only reader of an obscure post-apocalyptic webnovel for years and the novel suddenly becomes reality. And at first you'll probably get the weird impression that his behavior is pretty strange for, you know, a literal apocalypse happening in his world - like yes, he is concerned with survival but he doesn't seem all that scared and he kinda treats it like a video game where he has to grind to make himself stronger and he also treats his companions like a party in an rpg. Then there's also the way he approaches the protagonist of the webnovel, from the start he just kind of describes him as a ruthless psychopath and jerk that is unfortunately a pretty useful ally. And also there's the fact that he carefully omits any mention of his past and when somebody asks if he's worried about his family when the apocalypse starts he just kinda... brushes it off? Anyway so yeah, this bastard is definitely traumatized, although I don't know how much of spoiler territory that would be, considering the fact that literally when he first reveals his trauma he's also unreliable about it. And turns out he does indeed, care A LOT about this world and the people around him. Because well, he kinda didn't care to mention that this webnovel that has become reality was like... literally his whole world before it literally became his whole world. Like, it was the only thing keeping him going for 10+ years and the protagonist that he likes to call a stupid jerk was his comfort character who he pretended to be when he felt like he couldn't handle something in his life by being himself. The protagonist is also canonically the person he loves the most according to a prophecy and he literally can't fathom the thought of him dying, even the timeline versions of him that directly oppose him. And I haven't even mentioned the Fourth Wall yet but I feel like this propaganda is a little long already

misreading the intentions of his companion (yoo joonghyuk) so many time.

YOU DON'T UNDERSTANDDD DOKJA IS SUCH A UNRELIABLE NARRATORRRRRR GOD I COULD WRITE AN ESSAY BUT I KNOW YOU LOVE DOKJA TOO BUT OMG HE'S JUST SO AAAAAAAAAAAH

he is the worst like actually. he starts the story talking about how normal and average he is. he is not. he is constantly mischaracterizing his friends and he's so good at lying to the readers that you don't even realize it at first. almost every single time he cries we have to be told by other characters because he never says it himself. there is literally a scene where his narration says "i wasn't crying" and then the in-universe entity that narrates the actions of people (orv is really weird and meta) says that he was, in fact, crying. honestly genuinely anything he says about himself (or doesn't say) cannot be trusted. he is just so frustrating. he drives me mad. i love him dearly. but he drives me so mad.

Rest of Propaganda under cut!

Dictionary definition of unreliable narrator. Does not tell the reader anything and then things happen and he's like oh yeah btw there was also this and this earlier but i just didn't feel like mentioning it. There's even a thing called the "Fourth Wall" that is able to see through kdj's bs so occasionally you get gems like, Kim Dokja: I didn't cry The Fourth Wall: [Kim Dokja was crying] Imagine being so unreliable as a narrator you need a more powerful narrator to call out the actual narrator.

This goes into spoiler territory, but; Kim Dokja is in possession of a skill called the Fourth Wall, which on the surface seems like it appears because he read the book that reverse-isekai’d into his own. However, as the story goes on it becomes clear that it’s pretty much a souped up version of his pre-existing dissociation. You cannot trust him to be honest about his feelings, his past traumas or his feelings about his past traumas, not to mention his tendency to just outright omit information that only gets revealed later on either when it becomes relevant or when an outsider POV reveals what’s actually happening. Exhibit A: he says (in 1st person POV) that he’s not crying. The Fourth Wall immediately contradicts this (as it is literally words of the novel) by saying (in 3rd person POV) ‘Kim Dokja was crying’. Exhibit B: Fails to mention entire actions when it shows him emotionally honest even in the slightest; we had to read from another character entirely when Kim Dokja was being physically affectionate with his companion. It’s so bad that there’s this entire paragraph about Kim Dokja describing himself hiding his eyes in his hands in jerky, weirdly specific detail and just AVOIDING EVERY WORD THAT MIGHT SHOW HE’S CRYING. The brilliance of ORV is that when you re-read the entire thing you get hints that ‘yes, this WAS hinted at the entire time’ but you have to dig it out of Kim Dokja’s repressed, depressed self-hating internal dialogue with your own two hands.

i am a simple man (not a man). i see a tumblr text post with the words “unreliable narrator in it”. i read nothing else. i reblog & tag #kim dokja okay but in all seriousness i’m just going with the musty basic example: so there’s this moment where he sacrifices himself to save this guy. as he lays on the ground bleeding out, he says “hey, you don’t like me, right? you should kill me to get some money” the guy says “no kim dokja i cant do that (going through the five stages of grief except there’s only one and it’s anger)” the constellations (twitch viewers irl) are like omg he (the guy) doesn’t want to kill his companion (kim dokja) and shower him (the guy) with money kim dokja: oh, he’s not killing me for the money. smart! as i quote a brilliant youtube video (all of omniscient reader’s viewpoint in 6 minutes) “yoo joonghyuk sees kim dokja as a c_____” yoo joonghyuk: companion kim dokja: cunt

Hides his true feelings, tells the readers what he thinks is convenient for the plot and that his own personal feelings don’t matter or are not so significant. Has unreliable thoughts abt his companion and is a liar. And is also an omniscient reader.

Kim Dokja always perceived his companions in this like nonchalant way like “oh yeah we get along but really we’re just fighting to survive (apocalypse setting) it doesn’t run that deep” when they all do genuinely care for him and he does in turn. He just, doesn’t think of it as an equal relationship? Dokja’ll sacrifice a lot for them but will get seriously flabbergasted if they do the same thing, so fricking problematic. Not to mention Yoo Joonghyuk, his “Life and Death Companion” (read: husband). Kim Dokja always seems to think that Joonghyuk has it out for him, which is kinda true, but he is literally blind to the fact that he’s attached to him. Like, it’s so obvious??? Also they have hella sexual tension but that’s another thing entirely

se get some many pov changes where kdj in his pov just assumed things based on what he knew the characters would do. however because of his interference the characters have changed and he wouldn’t know that if it hit him in the face

He's an unreliable narrator because he lies to himself and thus the audience. He literally rewrote his own childhood core memory. If someone says, "this guy is my friend!" He will go through so many hoola hoops in his mind just to rationalize it. Because he fundamentally believe that no one could love him and even if they did they couldn't know him and he's just gonna hurt them. He cries sometimes in canon but a lot of those times it's not even mentioned as crying he's that unreliable of a narrator. No joke, one time this guys he has a gay thing with called him his "companion" to someone who had just killed him (long story) and this bitch thought "oh wow he's doing it for the coins (another long story) he's so smart i wish I'd thought to that. He's terrible. He literally has an exchange with something called the Fourth Wall (an even longer story) where it said "you're crying" and he said "no I'm not" but he was crying. He makes me insane because the reader is supposed to project onto him. He made me see how much of an unreliable narrator I WAS. ORV is just like that tho.

[throwaway-yandere]

"If you truly loved me, you should be dead." (Yandere Hitman!Dainsleif/Reader)

a/n: shoutout to rin for giving me that wine prompt, general for making me simp more, and ana for indirectly giving me that final push to write abt dain again lol. Maybe I enjoyed this way too much. Sorry for the b&w manga panels lol.

unreliable summary: Dainsleif– a well-known ex-hitman– recently discovered that his deceased spouse might be alive. Whether or not that’s good news is entirely up to his mental state to decide.

Cw: yandere themes, mafia au, religious themes, major character death, violence, UNRELIABLE NARRATORS, mentions of cancer, and grief mixed with suicidal thoughts. Hurt/no comfort. Please PLEASE prioritize your mental health first before consuming dark content. you matter first and foremost.

“Dainsleif, Excommunicated. In effect, 6:00 p.m., Eastern Standard Time.”

—---

“Get in.”

“B-But what if!–”

“Just get in, Thoma.”

Dainsleif uncapped his hip flask as Thoma trembled at the foreboding skyscraper in front of their smaller and seemingly insignificant stature. He’s not bothered by Thoma’s reaction, besides–

What sane person wouldn’t be intimidated at the sight of a hotel run by criminals?

The Heavenly Principles is a chain of hotels established by the Abyss Order. It is also regarded as a haven for those with blood-stained nails– but never freshly coated hands. The Snezhnayan branch is the cruelest and most frigid one. They won’t bat an eye if you had arrived after a “job”, but it is most certainly a problem if you conducted “business” inside. It’s a neutral territory for the underworld with several ground rules. Rules that, once broken, would result in what is referred to as “ex-communication”… and no one wants the Adjudicator to hunt them down. 

As fate would have it, the infamously retired assassin turned "Bough Keeper" aided a corporate bodyguard inside. Thoma spoke about how the Adjudicator was looking for his Lady without ascertaining the reason why. To soothe the "pup"’s nerves, Lord Ayato kindly asked his old friend Dain if he could drag Thoma to Lord Arlecchino. If Dain knew how finicky the lapdog would be, he probably would've turned the favor down.

"Why are you so sure he's not after Ayaka?" Thoma boldly asked.

Dainsleif refrained from sighing.

The only reason Thoma wasn’t afraid of Dainsleif was that the retired hitman made an oath to his spouse that he would never kill again once they were married. Nowadays, Dain’s income relied on mundane “clean-ups” or sometimes disarming bombs. He dismantled himself from his old responsibilities and became the Abyss Order’s errand boy. Currently, his job is the lowest rank yet he remains respected. As the Bough Keeper, his job is to clean up and handle disputes as long as it doesn’t result in the death of any parties. 

A bit similar to Thoma’s line of work, but the bodyguard loathes that comparison. In his point of view, Dainsleif’s eyes are terrifyingly empty when compared to his. Thoma fears his eyes. It reminds him of the time he rowed a boat to Inazuma from Mondstadt. Being stuck in the middle of the sea is not what rattles him, it’s when Thoma gazed and saw the difference between the water and skies was heavily blurred, unable to pinpoint where the ocean ends.

That uncertainty makes anyone shake. They’d rather not make an enemy of a man who is one more step to having nothing to lose.

“If Adjudicator Cyno were out to get her, he would’ve surely ended her life by now,” Dainsleif answered, walking without as much letting the bodyguard catch up. “It’s far more likely that he has business with me and not your lady.”

The adjudicator would surely look for him in the next 3 hours.

“But My Lady has–”

“Not caused actions that'll make the Abyss Order turn against her whatsoever.” 

Dainsleif stopped by the tinted glass door and Thoma exhaled deeply. They had been walking for hours since the ex-hitman refused to take a taxi. He claimed that a walk would be safer for Thoma. Assassins don’t act kind towards bodyguards, so seeing Dainsleif march beside him (rather, in front of him) is more than enough to secure his safety. 

“Rest assured, once you talk to Arlecchino you’d realize that he’s not after the Himegimi.”

“A-And I’m supposed to be more relaxed by the possibility that he’s after her brother instead?”

“Yes,” he replied. “Because the Adjudicator wouldn't thoughtlessly kill the person who runs the Heavenly Principle's Inazuma branch. I'd appreciate it if you think critically.”

Katheryne, the receptionist, opened the hotel's door. She welcomed Dainsleif in, but if her hair was any longer she would’ve slapped her locks against Thoma’s face with how quick she was to turn and disregard his presence. 

“Good afternoon, Sir Dainslief, Thoma,” she said in a monotone voice. Her lack of honorifics when addressing the bodyguard was noticeably rude. “Please, do not wait around outside, come on in.”

The hotel looks even more spacious and positively regal inside.

Thoma had anticipated that a place where "lowlives" would find sanctuary would be horribly run-down and neglected, but he cynically understood that money talks—and crime speaks louder. His skin crawls at the idea that the blood money used to construct this infrastructure served as its fundamental foundation, but he lacks the courage to say it.

“So… Do you come here often?” Thoma whispered.

Dainsleif blinked– and Thoma can barely determine the subtle shock on his face.

“... Yes. Yes, I do.”

Dainsleif proceeded to advance toward Katheryne without explaining why he was taken aback by that question.

Thoma normally takes the front line during security disputes in the Kamisato Esate, but this hotel is a very different situation. If the act of clinging onto Dainsleif’s toned arm won’t disparage the Kamisato Clan’s reputation, Thoma would’ve done that in a heartbeat. A few oddballs gave him the side eye, and a ginger-haired man almost charged at Thoma with a makeshift lance before putting it away when he saw Dainsleif.

“Holy shit. It’s the dead Twilight walking!!!” The ginger greeted with empty eyes. “Where’ve you been, comrade?! And what’s with the news we just heard? You gave Skirk an aneurism.”

Dainsleif took a sip of his pocketed Death After Noon with a look in his eyes that screamed “Here we go again.”

“Your concern for me is flattering, Childe,” Dainsleif spoke, bored. “I’m only here for personal matters.”

“Is he a relative of yours?” This “child” squinted his eyes, piercing them against Thoma. “Must say, he looks like a total greenhorn.”

Thoma raised his hand, “I’m–”

“That’s not worthy of your concern, and don't bother him.”

Thoma was grateful for Dainsleif’s nonanswer. The way he phrased it had implications that he might be a VIP and therefore untouchable.

“Alright then, who am I to disrespect a legend’s wishes?” The “child" patted Dainsleif’s shoulder. 

“In any case, welcome home for the last time, comrade.”

Dainsleif diverted his gaze. 

“Home?”

This place is not his home, he refuses to let it be so. The scent of cocoa truffles, the messy watercolor-ed desk, the bulletin board littered with red threads, and scattered impulsive notes about a character’s dialogue– where is it? Is this stiff hotel Dainsleif’s home when there’s no sign of life– no sign of them? In here, there is no bed to fix, no brushes to dry, no markers to cap–

and no insomniac spouse to forcefully tuck into bed at 2 AM. 

A strained laugh exited Dainsleif’s throat, and a burning sensation in his eyes nearly reminded him that he does have emotions he cannot bottle underneath a cool facade. Yet, as that laugh reverberated in the otherwise silent lounging area, the ex-hitman steeled himself. That phantom coil in his chest dissipated and was replaced by something hollow. 

Midnight cuddles and drinks with his spouse, watching their eyes crinkle as they ramble about their last horror piece, pulling them closer just to see the stars in their eyes. That scenery? It was his home. It was what street musicians dub like Venti would as happiness. Not the silence after slaughter– not the quiet of the Principle's lounging area. 

The Bough Keeper closed his eyes and answered the two oblivious men with a flat voice. 

A “home” to get back to... 

“I… no longer have a home.”

He's already reached his journey's end. All his bones await now is death himself.

For only death can lead him back home into (Y/n)’s arms again.

Dainsleif sighed. 

“It’s a pleasure to see you again, Childe. Do svidaniya. Extend my greetings to Skirk if you have the chance, and when you try your hand at hunting me down: do your best.”

—-------------

“Found you."

The woman of the hour smirked as she peered over her shoulder. Her luxurious locks of short dark-streaked albino elegantly hair swung as she faced both Dain and Thoma. 

“Oh? Well, it’s only because I wanted to be found.”

Dainsleif sat at one of the chairs unperturbed while Thoma tried not to squirm as the Heavenly Principle’s Snezhnayan branch proprietor– Lord Arlecchino– organized her documents. The enormity of Thoma's situation was lost on her. Arlecchino's face was barely wrinkled, a sign that she takes pleasure in her job. Despite carrying out a task that required undivided attention, her piercing stare dug holes in the wall clock. Her lack of focus relieved Thoma, but only for a fleeting moment.

3 hours more, huh?

Arlecchino fished out a paper from her desk pile.

Never been one to beat around the bush, she laid the facts drop-dead on the table with a loud thud.

“(Y/n) is alive, and Her Highness expects that both Dainsleif and Kamisato Ayaka know where they are.”

…

Dainsleif didn’t utter a word.

“E-Excuse me?!” Thoma gasped.

Dain’s spouse died years ago. Much like a cat leaving the house when it knows it will inevitably shake hands with death, (Y/n) vanished when they knew the next month would be their last. Their family on their mother’s side had always been riddled with cancer and similar illnesses. When they muttered sweet phrases about how they wanted his last memories of them to be of them smiling and cheering him on– Dainsleif didn’t question the validity of their death. 

So for Arlecchino to say such a thing is a bit…

“There’s no way! Sure, (Y/n) was close friends with the Kamisatos– but My Lady cried during (Y/n)’s funeral. Ayaka had always been honest to a fault– she wouldn’t have been able to lie, act, or keep a secret like this–”

At least, that’s what Thoma assumed. All he has is word-of-mouth from his master and the Darknight Hero’s associates. The Dawn Winery isn’t the most reliable source unless you’re trained at fact-checking rogues and fabulists’ crude testimonies. Thoma may be a streetwise man, but he always exuded naivete when surrounded by men like them.

Dainsleif cut him off immediately. 

“Your rambling is as banal as Katheryne asking for “Dinner Reservations” after business. Worse, yours suffer from how unwarranted they are.” 

Thoma went silent to both Arlechinno and Dain’s immediate relief. The two understood it as Thoma perceiving a threat, but in reality, the bodyguard just wasn't aware that “dinner reservations” meant cleaning up a crime scene.

“Where is (Y/n)?” The ex-hitman looked at Arlecchino nonchalantly. “If that intel was real, where are they now?”

“Y-You can’t be serious, Dain!” Thoma gawked. “Your spouse died long ago–”

“Where are they now?”

Silence filled the room as the assassin repeated his inquiry with accentuated obstinacy. Dainsleif knows his spouse better than them so Thoma cannot question the widower’s line of thought.

(Y/n) (L/n), may not have been an official criminal in the eyes of the underworld, but they were guilty of multiple accounts of rebellion, sedition, and illegal associations. They penned propaganda in literary mediums and had repeatedly given out tactics on how to dismantle the current system under a 4-lettered pen name, “████”. His spouse was devious by nature and a long-winded conversationalist– which emphasizes a noticeable stark contrast when seated beside their stoic husband. 

If they were alive, they must be watching this conversation while suppressing a smirk.

(Y/n) was the type who would laugh at their own funeral. An expiration date made more sense to them than a promise of forever. Fixity made them uneasy. Dainsleif cannot trust others to share a domestic life with them when he is wholly aware that they’ll die from their hereditary illness. (Y/n) sought thrills more than comfort, which is a reason why he can't cross out the possibility that they had grown bored of their marriage and used their health as an excuse to–

No. That’s an awful line of thinking.

(Y/n) loved him. 

… Surely, they did? 

"Don't lose your composure, Twilight. I'm not saying this so you could drown yourself in grief with fire-waters. I’ve heard word from Pantalone that they’re likely in Sumeru City during the Sabzeruz Festival, but as (Y/n) loved to say–”

“Information always travels faster than people,” Dainsleif closed his eyes, tasting the words as if it was his deceased lover that imparted them themselves. “That leaked intel is as reliable as wet tissue paper.”

(Y/n)’s insight in regards to trends had been prescient– which is a kinder and less pessimistic way to say they likely already knew the adjudicator had been trailing them for some time. Runaways follow oft‐trod paths to free-trade zones– his spouse would be no exception.

That is, of course, if (Y/n) is alive.

But they’re not.

Dainsleif refused to believe it.

If (Y/n) (L/n) truly loved him, they wouldn’t be alive right now. 

“Let us temporarily assume that your spouse is alive for the foreseeable future, Dain,” Arlecchino said, noticing Dain’s subtly pained expression. “For the sake of formalities– are you aware of the repercussions you will face if they were?”

“Repercussions…?” Thoma’s eyes widened.

Dainsleif shook his head.

“If it’s as I suspect, then this is a tragic state of affairs.”

“Indeed,” Arlecchino placed a hand on her hip, subtly pushing away her coat to signify her slotted holster. She tilted her chin up menacingly at Thoma. 

“Since you can’t catch up, Mister Kamisato Estate Representative, allow me to spell everything out for you– Dainsleif would be formally announced as a “sinner” in the next 3 hours.”

Thoma’s eyes widened, unlike the man who was affected by the news.

“HAAAH?!?”

Dainsleif sipped his flask again, unbothered.

“Sinner” describes individuals who have been banned from all services, resources, and relationships with other members of the criminal underworld. Sinners become a target for any individuals who wish to kill them with a large bounty placed on their heads. And an ex-communication ordained by the Heavenly Principles is a guaranteed high payroll. When it’s the Abyss Order that hands the cash, you’d get more than enough to secure more than a handful of assets. The moment that occurs– Dainsleif would have to run and find connections that would help him plead his case.

They would surely goad everyone with tenfold the normal amount given the Twilight Sword’s intimidating repertoire. 

Dain found that amusing.

The nickname “Twilight Sword” he carries is not reserved for anyone else, but mortal arrogation would surely take a jab and see if they can steal the only life he can’t take away.

He’d laugh now if he weren't depressed.

Killing the Twilight Sword, huh? Even he fails to accomplish that.

"That's unreasonable! The sins of a spouse can't be shared–"

"Why don't you keep your mouth shut, blonde?"

Arlecchino snarled.

"Read the room. No one is giving you a turn to speak."

…

Dainsleif cleared his throat, “Back to the matter at hand; Her Highness is under the assumption that my spouse was– or is– conspiring against the Abyss Order. Which, I reassure you, is unlikely given how their last book is an anti-fascist novel with The Crane being alluded to as the protagonist.”

It didn't make sense for (Y/n) to betray the mafia when they were part of the cog that overthrew Osial, Ei, and the rest. 

“... The Crane?” Thoma muttered to himself.

Arlecchino sighed gutturally, irritated.

“You might know her as Shenhe. She’s the assassin that overthrew the ex-Capo, Osial,” Arlecchino answered Thoma. “Strange that you don’t know her. I’m certain she had helped with renovating the Kamisato Estate before.”

Thoma answered with a small voice, “I do know Shenhe as my Lady’s friend, but I don’t recall having her help us with our last renovation…”

“But you should’ve remembered that. After all, cranes are the best kind of bird to help you lift planks.”

…

…

…

“... None of you got the joke too? Don’t even think about disparaging me. The joke is not mine, it’s the Adjudicator's.”

Thoma frowned, “I’m sorry, I think it’s too advanced–”

“Stop.” Dainsleif whispered urgently, “Don’t let her explain it. We’re wasting time.”

—-------------

“Dainsleif, Excommunicated. In effect: 2 hours and 30 minutes.”

—-------------

“There’s a fourteen million bounty on your head now, Dain,” Arlecchino said. “If I were more heartless, I would’ve easily planned something. Fourteen million is an impressive starting price.”

“Thank you.”

“P-Please don't thank her. She admitted that she wants to kill you," Thoma begged in a hushed whisper.

As if he doesn't want that to happen.

“Although you have been a loyal customer, I can’t provide any services once the timer runs out,” Arlecchino deadpanned. “You’re a brave one. Sauntering into my hotel when assassins are waiting to strike. It’s as if you have a death wish like my former colleagues.”

“I’ll take my leave then.”

Dainsleif stood up and prematurely exited the conversation, leaving two acquaintances behind.

Arlecchino chuckled. Always up on his feet, that one. She looked at the person who left. It’s clear to her that Thoma does not know what he intended to do next. Thoma fiddled with his fingers, staring blankly. 

"It's rude to stare. If you have something to say, spit it out."

Thoma cleared his throat.

"Lord Arlecchino, I was hoping to find out more about My Lady's safety…"

Arlecchino rolled her eyes.

“I’d rather you figure out the truth for yourself. (Y/n) taught us that indoctrination is not education before they ‘passed’, but since I happen to be in a friendly rivalry with Lord Kamisato, I’ll give you your damn reassurance and advice."

Arlecchino grabbed Thoma’s shoulder tightly. Thoma stiffened at her harsh touch, but his determined eyes impressed Arlecchino.

"Ayaka is fine, and Ayaka will be fine."

Arlecchino slid an envelope against his chest. He winced awkwardly at her cold touch and fumbled to receive it. 

…

…

After reading the letter, Thoma sighed in relief.

"Feeling better?"

"Yes. Yes, Lord Arlecchino."

"Good."

No one outside the room knew at that time what the letter contained except for Lord Kamisato. But in 2 hours, the world would know soon enough.

"And lastly, I know you're tempted, but stay away from Dain. He's a dead man and most of all–" Arlecchino breathed between her teeth. 

“He's unreliable. His view on his relationship with (Y/n) is tinted with a rosy hue. His memory has all but faded completely regarding what transpired. And sometimes, liars get fooled by their own lies. See for yourself.”

Thoma’s eyebrows knitted in an instant. Arlecchino didn’t give him a turn to speak and opened the door on his way out.

“Focus on your issues, Kamisato Dog. Ad astra abyssosque.”

—------------------------------------

“Dainsleif, Excommunicated. In effect in 4… 3… 2…”

“1…”

“Dainsleif: 14 million. Open contract is now in effect. All services have been suspended.”

—------------------------------------

“Halfdan.”

“Dain.”

“Please let me do this.”

Dainsleif hummed non-committedly.

His new enemy is none other than Halfdan: an old friend back when he served in the military and also the same brother-in-arms he dragged along to become freelance hitmen. Thanks to the fall of multiple governments, Khaenria’hns had to vicariously live through dirty work to survive. To cope, Dainsleif mercifully persuaded Halfdan down this route with a gifted gun for him to take.

And it’s the very same revolver now aimed at Dainsleif’s forehead.

“Capo Pantalone denounced two possibilities from this scenario: one being your spouse had turned traitor and the other would be that they were a double agent this whole time,” Halfdan quietly mused. “And if that were the case, they fear what that makes you." 

“And that’s why you’re here?” Dainsleif spoke between labored exhales, clearly worn out from the numerous assassination attempts against his life moments prior.

The world they walk on is liquefied and weightless, never a flat one. Most are content to kill, but not to live– never to dream. Here in the underground, capitalism plays in a greater uneven field. Assassins, elites, common folk– such titles make no difference. Whatever bounty pays moderately might shoot higher the next hour while others might drop lower than the corpse themselves. 

Which led Halfdan to make the worst decision of his life.

An ex-hitman who refuses to kill does sound like an easy target on paper.

Dainsleif gritted his teeth. 

If Halfdan knew Dain's barrel was empty, he would be dead right now.

Still, not everyone would be bold to make an enemy out of the Bough Keeper.

Especially not when he memorized every hitman’s fighting style, moves, and preferred weapons.

"Evidence suggests that you’re an accomplice. Did you help them?"

“I did not help them– because (Y/n) was not a traitor.”

“Then who else could’ve ratted out all the Abyss' trade routes?” Halfdan said robotically. “It’s a win-win situation for (Y/n) if this whole mess is true. They’d get recognition for their work and potentially have you dead after your ex-communication.”

"Do you know where they are? Where (Y/n) is?"

"You're at the end of my revolver and that's what you're asking?"

"Is that so surprising?"

"Not at all," Halfdan closed his eyes. "Not at all."

"I take it you don't have a clue."

"I know that (Y/n) has been the brains of Archon Kusanali's return to office– possibly her second sage. Whatever that is."

That can’t be right. His spouse hated superordinate roles.

"For someone who was told their dead spouse might be alive, you're surprisingly calm, Dainsleif."

"Forgive me, I try my best to remain composed twenty-four-seven," Dainsleif sardonically replied. "It was a requirement of my previous profession."

“Right… Being a hitman must’ve been tough. Can’t imagine what it’s like,” he chuckled.

Halfdan fired first.

Dainsleif sprinted, hiding behind the alleyway's bricked stores. With his finger hovering above the trigger, he had momentarily forgotten who was after him. As Halfdan carefully scanned the area, Dain tied his blonde hair up loosely, courtesy to how his late spouse nagged him about how it helps keep loose strands out of his eyes during "business hours". 

Three warning shots followed. 

"Senior, can't you go easy on me? Just this once?" Halfdan mumbled.

Now that the gun was pointed at him, it came to both their minds that they don’t know one another as deeply as they thought. Not in the traditional sense of knowing their names and faces, of course. It dawned that neither talked about themselves as soon as they became hitmen. The Heavenly Principles– whether it’s the Snezhnayan branch or the one Lord Ayato’s running– was like their version of two lost samurais’ dilapidated shelter. They’d talk and bond while it rains– but they’ll never converse outside that haven.

Dain pursed his lips, glaring at the corner of his eyes... 

It’d be too easy to kill him.

There’s a crack in the wall that can easily target Halfdan’s temple. Should he pull the trigger, he would be dead without another word. His blood and brain matter would paint the alley’s wall like vague graffiti and there’d be one less person off his case. 

But Dainsleif didn’t fire his gun.

“Senior”? Don’t make him laugh.

"I'm not your senior anymore, Halfdan."

Dainsleif jumped out of his spot–

And took his shot too, without any intent to kill.

“NGAH–!”

Halfdan gasped sharply, biting his bottom lip as blood gushed from his left arm. He slid back behind the post immediately, afraid to get close to Dain. Besides, anyone can see a rifle's imprint on Halfdan's cheek. 

He's a sniper. Close combat is not his forte.

Unfortunately, Dainsleif used to be a spotter.

“Shit, Dain! What the hell?!” Halfdan tearfully begged. “W-Why are you fighting back? Aren’t you tired of this world?! Aren’t you just waiting to die?!”

Dainsleif’s eyelids lowered.

He doesn’t know the clear answer to that himself.

Until a thought occurred to him.

“I.. Want to carry their memories.”

“... W-What?”

“I wanted to carry on living, for them,” Dainsleif said. “For (Y/n).”

He realized that as long as he was alive, he could keep (Y/n)’s memory alive. He can continue to tell stories about them– to cherish the memories they shared and to honor their legacy. With a newfound sense of purpose, Dainsleif made a silent promise to himself and his deceased spouse. 

Hence, Dain would continue to live, not just for himself, but for them. He would carry their memory with him wherever he travels and he refuses to forget their warmth. With that, he gripped his gun, feeling resolute. It’s a long road ahead, but he can carry on, for (Y/n) and for himself. As it turns out, he still had a purpose and a reason to keep going.

His memories of (Y/n) are enough for him to stay alive.

Dainsleif glanced at the crack in the wall.

He reasons that he will be fine if Halfdan dies. Dain had killed many of his former allies before he was wed. Many did oppose his marriage with (Y/n)– worse, many thought they could kill his beloved for it to occur. Killing an old friend tonight wouldn’t be his first.

Dainsleif sighed. He could use his dagger, but he wanted Halfdan's death to be quick.

‘I’m sorry, Halfdan.’

But he did not feel sorry.

Dainsleif loaded his gun.

2 bullets.

That should be more than enough.

‘You’re going to have to be my first kill after 7 years.’

—------------------

As Dainsleif fended off greed-blinded men, Thoma found himself in another nerve-wracking dilemma. He stood inside one of the private rooms in the Heavenly Principles, unflinching. The sharp yet muted shrill of a spoon grated Thoma’s ears, but he remained standing, vigilant yet afraid. 

Hard to speak when it was the adjudicator himself that stirred the cup.

The adjudicator, Cyno, is a dreadful shadow to have. Unlike the Bough Keeper, he had deep-set eyes that looked to be calculated at all times. Thoma was most terrified by the adjudicator's reputation for having unwavering determination. His job is to be both feared and respected in equal measure. If Cyno wills it, Thoma and Ayaka would be nothing more than mere bodies between him and his goals. 

If it’s true that (Y/n) managed to escape Cyno more than a few times, then he ought to get some tips on how they do it. Cyno cornered Thoma so effortlessly before he could leave earlier.

"Coffee?" Cyno offered. "Don't worry, this isn't the same drink Dain prepared for (Y/n) every morning."

Thoma raised an eyebrow.

What does that mean?

“No thank you sir, but I appreciate the gesture.”

Cyno nodded.

“Let me be clear: I am here to adjudge your master, not you. So if my subordinates found evidence against her, I shall be the one that weighs those scales.”

Thoma already knew that and that threat was never going to provoke him.

If Thoma tells him what the letter contained now, it'll only make the Kamisatos more suspicious.

“I understand, sir. Would that be all?”

“Course not,” Cyno said. “Thoma, I’ve got a question to ask.”

“Go on, sir.”

“Did you ask Dainsleif for help earlier?”

“... Yes, sir.”

“Good,” the Adjudicator nodded. “I value your honesty– and are you sure you don’t want coffee?”

“Yes sir– and I’m sorry for asking for his assistance, I didn’t–”

“Know he was going to get excommunicated, I’m aware,” he muttered. “But that’s an old excuse.”

Cyno sipped his cup, his eyes locked on Thoma's. Thoma tried his best to avoid his gaze but found it impossible. The Adjudicator had a way of making people feel small with just a single look.

"You're brave," he said. "But bravery can’t save the Himegimi. Only the truth can. So where is he?" 

Thoma's heart raced as he tried to come up with a response. He knew he had to be careful with his words, or he might end up endangering not just himself, but Dainsleif as well. 

"I don't know where he is," Thoma said, his voice barely above a whisper. 

"Don't lie to me," Cyno's expression darkened, slamming his cup against the table. It shattered, making Thoma finally flinch at the sound of its impact. 

"We know you've been communicating with him. You're part of his and his spouse’s rebellion against the Abyss Order."

“I genuinely don’t know where he is and I'm not part of any rebellion,” Thoma’s voice cracked. “Lord Ayato just ordered me to communicate with Lord Arlecchino and had Mister Dainsleif tag along, please believe me.”

The Adjudicator went silent.

He scoffed.

“Damnit.”

Cyno understood through experience that Thoma wasn’t lying. He ran his fingers through his stressed-white hair, eyes closed. 

He unlocked the door.

“Fine, you’re free to leave.”

Thoma blinked, hesitating to do what was commanded.

It’s as easy as that…? 

He’s not going to interrogate him further? Wasn’t he supposed to probe into what he knows about Dainsleif or why Lord Ayato sent him to Snezhnaya in the first place? Won’t Cyno give Thoma the chance to tell him that he went all the way here because he feared what he plans to do to Ayaka?

It can't be over just like that.

Wasn't he after Ayaka?

What's going on?

Why did he give up that fast?

All the effort he went through… Just for that?

That’s all the big scary Adjudicator has to say?

Thoma combed his hair up.

Was Lord Ayato right? Was he really just paranoid?

Whatever was on Thoma’s mind– he spoke none of it. He discarded every doubt. Above all else, he was glad that everything seemed to be over.

As Thoma turned to close the door behind him, he heard Cyno mutter something barely a whisper.

“If I am to weigh the souls of others in this world as an Adjudicator, then I must also place my own soul on the scales to be judged in the same manner, but…”

Thoma closed the door before he heard him finish the rest.

“(L/n), despite being a wrongdoer, I wonder if you had a point…” Cyno said.

“... Maybe it’s time we dismantle the current system and rely on the government– Kusanali– once more.”

Cyno didn't drink the coffee he prepared for Thoma. Instead, the adjudicator grabbed his case and left the dubious drink be.

—--------

Thoma thought that was the end of it, but fate had other plans.

He was on his way back when he stumbled upon Dainsleif, soaked in blood. It was a complete coincidence that Thoma had taken this particular route, and he can’t tell whether that was a blessing or a curse. Knowing that Dainsleif possesses incomparable mental fortitude to carry on fighting despite his weakened state, he approached him warily. Thoma was warned already by Arlecchino not to get involved, yet he can’t just leave without a proper thank you. As he got closer, Thoma saw that the man was mumbling incoherently.

"Eli…” 

Thoma blinked. Is he calling for Ellin, the rookie hitman?

“Dain…?”

He’s lost in his thoughts. 

Dainsleif was morbidly aware that feelings of grief should've surfaced, that he should be mourning the loss of an old friend. Once again, he tried to summon some kind of emotion, any reaction to his Halfdan's corpse. But he felt nothing. No sadness, no anger, no regret. What he felt was frustration only after his failed attempts. Dainsleif was unable to shake off the sense of detachment that had taken hold of him.

Halfdan was just another person who failed to kill the “Twilight Sword”.

“Eli, lama sabachthani…?" Dainsleif muttered.

"Huh?"

Eli, Eli, Lama Sabachthani: those were the words his spouse said when they were incredibly ill. 

It meant "My God, my God, why hast Thou forsaken me?"

As he gazed at the scene of Halfdan's death, Dainsleif heaved a heavy sigh. He was aware that he had to face the facts of his predicament, but he wasn't sure how he should press on. The deafening silence prevailed. Now that he had to deal with isolation and social rejection, his longing for (Y/n) rekindled sevenfold. He knows that it's near impossible to continue living without his spouse.

But finding them?

That should be easier.

"Y-You should take a rest, Dain," Thoma frowned. "I know you haven't killed anyone since today, so maybe you should seek shelter and steel yourself for now."

“I can't, and there is no need for that. No other Black Serpent assassin danced with grief more than I.”

Dainsleif swiftly picked up the knife from the ground, masterfully twirling it until the blood was wiped clean.

“But when I got back to work– I suddenly felt a small amount of relief from this suffering.”

He stabbed the knife back into the corpse’s chest like a toothpick. The blonde carved the knife down the ribs with sheer brute strength. Blood coated his fingers and as he curled it deeper inside Halfdan’s chest, the blade disappeared.

Dainsleif laughed. 

The manic blonde’s crooked grin widened.

Thoma didn’t gag at the sight of Halfdan’s corpse– he was used to the sight– but he gulped as he saw Dain’s expression.

His "terrifyingly empty" eyes suddenly had something murky fill the void. 

Dainsleif lost it.

“That high didn’t last. Even now, I can feel anguish permeating my entire being. There is no “undoing” their death, such a line of thought inflicts only agony. (Y/n) had become an integral part of me– slowly but surely replacing my sins with a tenderness one cannot attain in the underworld. They did say that grief comes in waves, but how long will I have to stand ashore until a crash large enough would drown me to sea?”

Thoma drowned out his musings. They were bound not to make sense in the first place.

He's not mentally stable, and he doesn't expect him to be. Dain just found out his dead spouse might be alive and killed a friend in under an hour. Thoma would be insensitive if he forced him to compose himself.

Dainsleif let the handle go.

“Can’t you understand why I’m so desperate to find even a sliver of my beloved?” He laughed. “Why I never took assassination requests from the Abyss Order after their death? Why I’m more than willing to kill again? The answer is simple–”

Suddenly, it’s harder to breathe.

The ex-hitman stopped.

His smile weakened as he spoke, “Thoma… (Y-(Y/n)... I want (Y/n) to take me back in their arms as a corpse.” 

Dainsleif breathed in shakily, his tears obstructing his speech. He clenched his fists above the table, arching his back as he avoided the bodyguard’s concerned gaze. Thoma could practically see his sobs as Dain’s entire body trembled from a depleting mix of ineffable exhaustion, sadness, and longing. He had bottled these emotions for long enough. 

He always had nowhere else to go– no one else to turn to. But nowadays, it felt different. All because he foolishly trusted that maybe this time someone would be able to kill him…

Maybe this time…

The bodyguard rubbed his back, which only served to make the lonesome man conceal his weeping. There's nothing Thoma can do other than provide useless ministrations. To save the last of the ex-hitman's dwindling pride—if he really cared for such—he can only frown and look away.

Dainsleif trembled.

He doesn't know how to cry.

So he cried clumsily.

“I-I’m tired… of taking my own life.” 

—----------------

“Dainsleif, open contract. Increase: 20 million.”

—----------------

[Eight Years Ago]

“So, Dain,” they awkwardly voiced with a warm smile. “Do you come here often?”

Does he come here often? Of course, he does. He “worked” here– but no ordinary citizen should know what business goes down in Wanmin restaurant. 

And he knew (Y/n) frequented this restaurant too.

Dainsleif laughed.

It’s true, Dainsleif stalks them. 

He initially believed they were just an extroverted student who had nothing better to do than to talk to the stranger they kept sitting next to on the bus. He was so exhausted from "work" that his initial impression was of (Y/n) was a loud and brazen scholar. Since the bus they boarded frequently had a TV, they were always open to talk with him about delicate subjects like the daily news about the syndicates without displaying any expressions of disgust. Although they didn't agree with everything he stated, they showed maturity by holding their ground. They praised him for his noteworthy thoughts while criticizing him for his blatantly generic statements. Dainsleif was almost sure they were part of the "industry" he works on–

Until he saw the collage of their friends and professors as their lock screen. Dainsleif realized two things at that time.

1) They like to write.

2) Their favorite mentor was Professor Aether. The “Traveler” who would inherit the Abyss Order if the Abyss Princess dies.

So it’s no wonder they knew a lot about human trafficking. 

Something about their easygoing attitude and quick wit struck a chord with him. He found himself laughing along with them, feeling a sense of rare ease and comfort. And whenever they said their goodbyes when boarding off the bus, Dainsleif felt a sense of anticipation, a feeling that this was something special. 

And now he "knows all that he needs to know" about (Y/n) (L/n).

Upon realizing that he was staring (they were waving a hand near their face), Dainsleif cleared his throat.

“I enjoy the wine here.”

“Thought the light was about to take you to the other side,” (Y/n) teased. “Anyways, yeah, you know my friends Stella, Jude, and Shiro? They like it too. Can’t catch me drinking though– I just order the sardines pasta here while they get red-faced drunk.”

He sneakily glanced at the menu and silently noted how that order appears to be the cheapest meal. If Dain pitied his date, he made no mention of it. Uyuu restaurant is for the rich and the shady and based on their humble hand-me-down shoes, both descriptions eluded them. 

“Well-off friends?”

Dainsleif already knows the answer. 

"Eh. We all know both rich and getting-by folks, don't we? As long as we can pay our bills, it doesn't matter," they shrugged. “Still… I’m REALLY sorry that you dressed up for me, Dain.” 

They pinched their forehead.

“Look– I don’t know what on earth Rin told you, but I’m not worth this effort. You look incredibly dashing in that suit and tie by the way– but your date is wearing their sister’s Converse right now. If you want me to leave and enjoy your meal alone, just say so– you can even tell everyone that I’m just some charity case college student you fed or something. Fine by me, no problem.”

Dainsleif snorted slightly. While there’s no doubt in his mind that his salary can afford someone’s student loans, the last thing hitmen would do with their monthly pay is invest in multiple scholars.

“Would you feel better if I said I just arrived from work and had no time to change so I 'didn’t' put in any effort…?”

“Kinda,” they croaked pathetically and bowed their head. “But now that you phrased it like that, I can't tell if you're lying for the sake of my feelings, huhu...”

But that uncontrollable sunny smile on their face doesn't show any hint of genuine remorse. Dainsleif reciprocated their smile. (Y/n) is getting more comfortable being in Dainsleif’s presence than before, and Dainsleif seems more open to sharing things about himself– albeit not enough to spill about his true occupation.

His occupation…

Dain tried not to think about it whenever they're on a date, but he can't help it sometimes.

When, he wonders. 

When will he find someone that is close enough to actually kill him?

This job was starting to get stale…

If it weren't for (Y/n), he sees no reason to even get out of bed anymore.

(Y/n)... Right, (Y/n). Of course.

Dainsleif stopped himself from grinning widely.

He's on a date– he should be more attentive.

Dain looked at them again, finding himself naturally concentrated on their mannerisms.

“... Why are your hands in your pockets?”

“Oh– I learned from one of my professors that people look more confident when they have their hands in their pockets, if and only if they have a thumb out, apparently.”

“And this prolonged eye contact we’re having?”

“My poor attempt at applying what I’ve learned, yes.”

Dainsleif laughed.

“You’re very easy to listen to.”

They frowned. 

“Sorry… I tend to overshare sometimes.”

“Why are you apologizing? I appreciate that you’re being yourself,” Dainsleif said. “Better than honeypotting someone in a relationship.”

“You’re right, sor– I mean, yeah, you’re right.”

A waiter passed by.

“One– Two Death After Noon please, boss,” Dainsleif said. 

(Y/n) chuckled humorously, "I suppose I'd also drink a lot if I ended up going on a date with someone like me."

"Glad to hear it. Let's have a drink together."

"Aight– wait, what?"

Dainsleif attempted to pass the glass to (Y/n), but the moment their hand reached the stem–

Splash.

"Oh sh–! I'm so sorry!!!"

Dainsleif blinked.

"Oh my Goodn– I'm so sorry, my bad. I'm–"

"It's alright. Hand me some tissues."

"Sorry…" they cringed. "I'm– I'm a little out of it, lately. I didn't mean to spill that all over– ugh. I'm such a disaster today, what the heck?"

Dainsleif chuckled, almost inaudibly. He didn't move from his position, letting the wine soak his jeans. 

"You don't need to worry, I'm used to this."

They tried not to visibly react to that statement. 

Use to what, exactly? Having drinks spilled on him? 

What kind of life is Dainsleif living for that to happen often enough times for him to get "used to this"? Are people constantly spilling things on him? 

"...Workplace harassment?" (Y/n) muttered, not realizing Dainsleif heard it.

His heart leaped as he quickly glanced at himself to check for visible wounds or scars, but snapped out of it when he felt something light against his clothes. No matter how wrong it could appear in public, it seems that (Y/n) awkwardly grabbed the closest tissue box to dab it out (and this action was motivated by how dry cleaning was expensive that year).

"(Y/n)–" he cringed as they continued.

"Please wait."

"You should be more focused on yourself," Dainsleif cleared his throat, with his ears and cheeks slightly red. "Y-You're wearing white."

"Oh…"

They pulled the hem of their clothing. The wine soaked them as well but they were too engrossed to notice it. (Y/n) scowled.

"I'm– yikes, I'm irredeemable at this point. Whoops," they laughed somewhat nervously. “You’ve done it, Mx. (L/n). This is our last date, I guess.”

Dainsleif didn't say a word.

He just stared, looking directly at their splattered clothes. Unlike (Y/n), he didn't jump to helping his date clean up. Dainsleif covered his mouth and breathed in shakily. It was strange. Instead of feeling annoyed or frustrated, he found himself staring fondly at (Y/n) and their almost equally stained clothes.

This stain… It looked like…

They expect him to laugh at their clumsiness or berate them at worst, but when they gazed up, those slapdash daydreams evaporated. Dainsleif looked dazed. 

… Blood.

“Dain?”

They looked up at him, doe-eyed and confused. Without hesitation, they cupped his cheek, checking his features.

“Dain? Are you feeling alright? You’re spacing out a lot today.”

Dainsleif couldn’t stop staring.

This scenery was almost perfect. Almost. It just needed one small tweak:

It shouldn't have been wine. (Y/n) would look breathtaking if they were covered in the blood of the men he killed to get a chance to date them.

He looked at his stained clothes and smiled.

Maybe, just maybe,

(Y/n) (L/n) will be the one who can kill him.

—-----------------------------

[PRESENT]

Dain stumbled towards a house with a small inteyvat garden, his body aching and his clothes still stained with blood. He lifted a weak hand and knocked on the door, leaning heavily against the doorframe for support. He shook his hip flask, disappointed that the alcohol was already empty. Not that he needed it to ease his wounds. Thoma already helped Dainsleif patch up a bit, but left in a hurry knowing that the Adjudicator might see his act of “treason.” 

After a few moments, the door creaked open and a blonde man peered out. 

It was Professor Aether, a kind yet unassuming man who taught at multiple universities– including (Y/n)’s. Despite being the Abyss Princess's kin, he lived a relatively lowkey life in the suburbs after he stopped traveling. Aether looked Dainsleif up and down, his expression unreadable. 

"You look injured," he said flatly, without a hint of concern in his voice. 

Dain struggled to keep himself standing. 

"I am," he said. "Traveler, I’ve been wrongfully excommunicated and I need your help."

Aether nodded as if he had expected that news. Still, he refused Dain entry to his house. “You didn’t honestly think I’d help you without a second thought, right?”

Dainsleif took a deep breath, “I have served and will be of service.”

The sinner then pulled out an object from his pocket and shoved it down Aether’s palm.

Aether raised an eyebrow, concerned.

Visions is a round metallic insignia formally recognized by the Abyss Order that signifies a blood oath. The debtor has their bloodied fingerprint pressed inside the shell. This vision had Aether's fingerprint, and he owes Dainsleif.

“A vision? Do you believe a blood debt will make me help you?” Unlike before, his voice was warm but distant.

“I helped you find your sister– you can help me find my spouse in return,” Dain glared. “Sinner or not, you owe me. I’m certain (Y/n) is alive– and I’m sure you know where they are. You shaped them into the tactician they are now. If there’s anyone who can figure out where they are, it’s you. So take me there.” 

Aether closed his eyes.

There's no way he can reason with him.

This is no longer Dainsleif he's talking to– but a husk of a man.

“Fine.”

The professor also pulled something out of his pocket. A blue syringe, none other than one of Dottore’s concoctions, Dain believes. He did not question why he had that in his possession. Foolishly, he did not question if it was an anesthetic or a lethal injection either. What mattered more was (Y/n)’s location. Nothing else.

“But you’ll have to be asleep for it to happen,” the professor commanded exasperatedly. “Do you understand?”

“Why?”

“Because they wouldn’t believe I didn’t help you out otherwise,” Aether scoffed. “So just knock yourself so I can tie you up.”

Dainsleif rolled up his sleeve.

“Do what needs to be done.”

Aether administered the drug.

—-----------

Dainsleif slowly opened his eyes, his head throbbing just as Aether warned him. The room spun slightly as his eyes adjusted to his surroundings. His vision was blurry, but he could make out the distinct Inazuman patterns that covered the walls. The intricate designs were a mix of cloud shapes and leaf motifs, all in shades of blue and white.

This must be the basement of Uyuu restaurant. Dain didn’t expect he’ll be able to (Y/n) here– and if this was one of their base locations, that must mean Ayato is on their side. That’s another surprise he didn’t see coming. These all must’ve been Archon Kusanali’s idea– or maybe it was that government official, Al Haitham?

Whatever, it didn't matter. At least Dain was expecting to be tied down and he was right, he reminded himself. Dainsleif took a deep breath and calmed himself. The ropes dug painfully into his wrists as he struggled against them, squirming to find weak knots that bound him to the chair. No luck. 

“Evening, Twilight Sword… Do you come here often?”

Dainsleif stopped struggling.

He looked up, dazed.

Perhaps “enchanted” might be the right term.

Although Dainsleif could barely discern their face from this lighting, he can just about make it out from the shape of their silhouette. 

“To this day, you’ve faithfully done your duty as a loving husband– how can a person ever find a man better than you?” The shadow smiled cheaply. "Is that what you wanted me to say?"

The shadow tilted their head up, and a red glint refracted from a familiar pair of tinted glasses. They pulled out a chair and sat in front of him, chuckling angrily as they did so.

“I’d rather not. I’d rather ask how much can I pay you to die.”

Dainsleif coughed.

“... (Y/n)? My beloved, is that you?”

The abyss smiled back.

“I importune you to perish, and you call me 'beloved'?” They laughed sardonically. “Isn’t taking bounties your entire shtick? Why ignore me? Don’t tell me you had a sudden aversion for death.”

They rolled their eyes.

“You’ve encased me in your penthouse, locked me up, stolen my brushes and pens away– and lied to the rest of the world that I had cancer like my relatives when I didn’t and still don’t. So don’t call me beloved. You don’t have the right.”

Their voice was buttery smooth as if seducing him– yet it would be foolish of him not to notice the sharpness of their words– the bitterness it latched onto. It sounded like the truth, but Dainsleif believes they were nothing but lies. 

Dainsleif cringed. 

“But you do have canc–”

“Fucking bullshit!” The person slammed the table, but years of experience didn’t make the retired hitman flinch. “I was NEVER sick!!! You desperately wanted me to be– because– because YOU didn’t want ME to LEAVE!”

“You always talk about how I’m fucking corrupted– how I can’t be cured– how I’m terminally ill when you’re the one slipping poison in my coffee every fucking day!” They ranted. “You didn’t want me to live, Dainsleif. You wanted me to be sad and– and miserable like you are."

He heard nothing. 

That’s not true. None of their words add up.

They loved him– (Y/n) loved him.

Didn’t they?

… Then again, didn't Dainsleif have awful memory?

“Every night, I prayed you’d be dead,” the shadow said, calmly. “And every morning I woke up, I was disappointed. It doesn’t help how your expressionless face is always the first to greet me.”

Dainsleif knew (Y/n) liked challenges– there's no way they want him dead. That's what the promise was for, right? The reason why they made him swear to never kill again once they're married was to make life a bit more exciting. That's what it was, right? 

They're not trying to get rid of him from the very beginning, right…?

They clapped.

Dainsleif instinctively closed his eyes as the rest of the lights fiercely illuminated the entire room. Slowly, his burned eyes fluttered open, and his heart beat again after seeing the shadow’s face. 

It was (Y/n)'s.

It was his beloved’s.

The same face who wrote the letter Thoma read earlier– the same bastard who schemed to prove the Kamisatos are "not involved" with the anti-mafia stunts they've pulled but not their supposed “spouse”.

"I know what you're thinking, and I know I can't kill you," they scoffed. "So I had to resort to some underhanded tactics. Getting you excommunicated was the best one. If I can't do the job, I'll give others a damn good reason to do it for me instead."

Dainsleif chuckled softly.

Adorable. What a kind gesture.

"You underestimate yourself. You can kill me if you just try."

They snorted.

"Best joke I've ever heard from you, Dain. Dry humor suits you."

"I wasn't joking."

"I know you weren’t," (Y/n) clicked their tongue. “I know one of the reasons you kidnapped me was to make me competent enough to maybe kill you someday. Hah. At least I can say that I tried.”

They scowled. Patronizingly, they tore their gaze away from him and instead looked at what was inside the room. Dainsleif was not the same. He couldn’t tear his gaze away to notice how he was trapped inside the Uyuu restaurant’s weapon room.

For the first time in years, Dainsleif smiled like a child.

Dogs like Thoma would never be able to understand what it’s like to have such a strong connection with someone that isn’t your master.

He could no longer care if they (Y/n) was the one that shoots him right there.

In fact, he wouldn't mind if (Y/n) died too.

Haha… Hahahaha….

They had always been dead to him for years now.

Dainsleif finally remembers everything clearly.

(Y/n) had never been "dead", he was just angry that they escaped successfully.

Angry to the point they were actually dead in his eyes.

“I don’t know why the Professor brought you here all tied up– but I’m growing impatient at just the sight of you.”

So is he.

Dainsleif chuckled. One other thing he expected was that Aether will send him here with the intent of killing him. Shame, however, that Dainsleif saw that coming from miles away.

(Y/n) stepped closer and Dainsleif frantically pulled at the ropes, feeling them loosen. Dain had to keep going. He needed to break free. 

“Farewell.”

As (Y/n) reached out to grab their gun off the table, Dainsleif surged forward, throwing his weight against the ropes and snapping them. He stumbled to his feet, the chair clattering to the ground as he grabbed at the gun faster than they could. The patrons of Uyuu restaurant are completely unaware of the drama that had taken place below their feet, chatting and dining as usual.

“Tch!”

With years of experience behind his back, Dainsleif knocked the gun out of (Y/n)’s hand, sending it skittering across the floor. (Y/n) lunged for it, but he tackled them, driving them both to the ground. 

(Y/n)’s eye twitched and they can tell Dainsleif was equally pissed. But even when he had them pinned on the floor, Dainsleif remained careful on how he should hold them down. That unspoken act of “love” makes them want to vomit, but there was no time for that.

Even so, something about his stare seemed off.

It's as if he wanted to drag them down.

It's as if he wants them to be as dead as him.

(Y/n) jolted upon seeing his eyes.

In an unexpected string of luck, (Y/n) kicked him off and wrenched the gun away from Dainsleif.

They pointed it at him.

Dainsleif did not take a step back or forward.

As (Y/n) preps the gun, like souls intertwined by fate and time, they both had one thought in mind:

“If you truly loved me, you should be dead.”

(Y/n) fired.

BANG!!!

…

…

…

They shot him.

They shot Dainsleif. 

And they know they shot him because they felt his blood pressed against their body.

But they blinked.

Lord– all (Y/n) did was blink.

"Y-You finally know how to fire a gun."

Dainsleif has nothing to be proud of in his own life, but he can still be proud of them. 

There's no way for (Y/n) to miss the wetness of his gunshot wound. Not when he's holding them into a tight hug. Despite bleeding out, his firm hand cradled the nape of their neck, humming contently. Dainsleif thought to himself that a shot from (Y/n) did not feel painful in the slightest. It almost seemed like an injection. 

No… Something isn't right, why is he so close…?

Their stomach burned.

And they can almost hear his smile. 

"Thank you, my beloved. I was tired of taking my own life…"

If he can't have them alive, well…

Dainsleif pulled out the dagger behind their back.

No one should be able to have (Y/n)'s corpse too.

Dain kissed them.

He traced his wet thumb against their cheek, painting their face red with his fingerprints.

Dainsleif grinned.

"I love you."

They choked out blood out of pure disgust. Their strength was ebbing away.

Haha… It’s almost like… They actually have stomach cancer…

Their vision began to swim and they felt their consciousness slipping. (Y/n) saw blood seeping through their clothes, staining them dark red. Tears streamed down their face as they realized what had happened. Dainsleif stabbed them. They tried to cry out loud, but their voice was weak and hoarse.

The blood on their clothes… It almost reminded them of their seventh date. The wine, his dazed look…

(Y/n) would laugh humorlessly if they could.

In their last moments, (Y/n) learned that it took strength to cry… to scream out the pain buried within their stomach. But they had no strength left and they dropped their gun. 

Their only option was to wither away.

Dainsleif kissed their neck sloppily– (Y/n) couldn't tell if it was saliva or blood. The taste and scent of blood filled his senses. Surely from both of them. Maybe this is what Dainsleif meant when he spread rumors about his spouse constantly going through hemoptysis. Bleeding from the mouth does count as a sign of a terminal illness, doesn't it?

His thoughts are curt. His breathing is short. Yet, his unhinged eyes were near immortal.

Dainsleif no longer cared about his own life– not when the person he lives for wanted him dead.

The weight of their "atonement" falls on (Y/n)'s shoulders as Dainsleif weakly knelt along with them. As their vision dies out, he tightens his hug, hungrily leaning into their dwindling body heat.

Dainsleif was right.

They do look beautiful soaked in the blood of their enemy.

"I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you."

Even in death, he will not leave them be. 

They sobbed.

No…

But they were so close…

In their final moments, (Y/n) could only look up at the ceiling and cry.

They clutched their feeble freedom and life, staring into the abyss as though it can provide them solace to answer the question:

"E-Eli… eli, lama sabachthani?"

[what-if-toa-rott]

MASTERPOST.

What is #What If ToA RotT?

A project of 20 dedicated people who invested 2.5 years to rewrite the beginning of the 2021 movie Tales of Arcadia: Rise of the Titans. It became a beautiful 30 min fan animatic.

It was based on @tenebrius-excellium's fix-it fic. (outlined)

What is it about?

Blinky narrates A Brief Recapitulation of Troll Lore No. 48 as an alternative prologue to the movie. Visually, we preferred to use a sepia-colored book-like aesthetic. The og intro, in contrast, was felt to be rather rushed and confusing.

We then open into a scene playing in New York City, which explains the premise and what Douxie, Nari & Archie have been doing since the former events of Wizards: Tales of Arcadia. The scene is meant to pick up the audience where they were left off after the show, since the movie forced a rather abrupt continuation. What was dubbed by us as the #café scene goes at a slower, more comfortable pace, and intends to pay more respect to the world lore, character relationships etc. It then neatly ties itself to the canon follow-up scene which is commonly known among fans as the "subway scene".

What do I do with it?

You can view the scene as an insert into the canon movie. It is placed in the timeline between Blinky's recap of previous events and the subway scene as a slower and more informative opening.

You can see it as the first, animated scene of @tenebrius-excellium 's fanfic idea, which pursues a very different, more satisfying plotline afterwards.

You can use it as a base to invent your own fix-it story for a movie that could have been good but was sadly largely perceived as disappointing. Have fun! :)

Where can I watch it?

On Youtube! Here are the links to the...

...Trailer: Trollhunters Rise of the Titans: WHAT IF [a fandom project] Official Trailer

...Full movie: Trollhunters Rise of the Titans: WHAT IF [fandom project]

...Blooper Reel: What If ToA Rott Bloopers

This is amazing! Who participated in making this?

All credit goes to @nikibogwater @capsulect @bluespiritslight @sopafa @e7y1 @the-fandom-hopping-mage @prismarts @i-am-gun-robot @squabasaurus @livmadart @tempestimes @noperopesaredope @malleepp @honeyxmonkey @bluheaven-adw @azure-za-raid @sweetkever @guardianofideas @jmeestella @tenebrius-excellium on Tumblr!

Have fun and enjoy!

[sophieinwonderland]

The Plurality of... The Hybrid Chronicles: What's Left of Me

Over the past couple weeks, I've been listening to book one of The Hybrid Chronicles, What's Left of Me.

And it is AMAZING. Fantastic story with a fantastic narrator!

As always, expect huge spoilers ahead!

A World of Twin Souls

The Hybrid Chronicles takes place in an alternate reality where every person is born as two people. Each has their own name. Each has motor control of the body at different times and can switch who is in control. And they communicated with each other internally with mindvoices just like most systems.

This is how it is in the beginning, at least.

There's a recessive soul that usually fades away naturally though childhood. Usually around 4 or 5. Some take longer. If the recessive soul doesn't fade away, if they don't "settle", then the two become a Hybrid.

If a child reaches 10 and hasn't settled yet, they're sent away to nightmarish institutions.

The history the government gives explains that Hybrids are all terrible and chaotic. At some point in the history of The Americas (The whole supercontinent appears to have one centralized government in this universe) people rebelled against the Hybrid leadership, massacred the Hybrids, and took control of their new Hybrid-free nation.

The Americas became intensely xenophobic and trade was cutoff from the rest of the world.

The government of The Americas pushes constant anti-hybrid propaganda, showing the other nations as violent and destructive because of their hybrid leadership.

A weird note on names: One of the least believable things about this story to me is that parents give their children two names. It seems like it would make much more sense for them to just call each soul by the same name. Maybe with a number attached. For example, you might just have Addie 1 and Addie 2 instead of Eva and Addie. Then when the recessive soul fades away, it will feel less like your child just died. Because it seems really messed up that there's just a world where you're expected to name two children, knowing that one would be guaranteed death. (In real life, it's common for places with high infant mortality rates to not name their babies immediately.)

But then again, maybe some people tried that, and it just resulted in one of the souls choosing a different name for themselves anyway. And then if that soul with a different name settled as the dominant, then the parents get a child with a name they didn't choose. I suppose I could accept that headcanon. 🤷‍♀️

Eva and Addie

That brings us to the main characters. Our viewpoint character is Eva, a recessive soul who has lost motor control of the body. But she didn't fade away completely. She shares a head with Addie.

The two have to constantly hide who and what they are from the world, lying to everyone and saying that only Addie survived.

At the same time, Eva longs for nothing more than to be able to move her fingers again. To talk to people outside of their body.

The relationship between these two characters is the heart of What's Left of Me. The two are like sisters. They comfort each other when they're hurt or scared. They fight with each other. They fight for each other. And they are both willing to sacrifice for the other.

Addie has to wrestle between her desires to remain "normal," and to support Eva and let Eva be herself.

As a system, something I often hear come up from singlets is a question of why you would let someone take control of your body.

And I think this amazing bit of dialog when Addie and Eva find a way for Eva to regain her mobility encapsulates it perfectly.

When you care about someone, of course you would be willing to give up time for them. Even if it's hard sometimes to step away from the reins.

At its core, this book is about pluralphobia. In part, from a society that is openly hostile to plurals. But it's also about internalized pluralphobia. It's about Addie and Eva's self-hatred instilled into them by a world that refuses to accept them.

It's about their own struggle to be able to accept themselves.

This is such a poignant quote and it stuck with me more than anything else in the book.

So far, most of the excerpts from this are focused on the general premise of the book and the relationship of the protagonists. What I'm going to say next is more spoilery as it's from near the end of the book. If what I've mentioned already as enticed you to read it for yourself, this is a good place to stop...

...

...

...

Acceptance

Through the story, Eva gradually regains motor controls and the two start to accept themselves more.

And I must say that it's an amazing journey. I love seeing Eva so excited to talk to people and even just move her fingers for the first time in years.

Every new milestone is so well-written. (And the narrator does an incredible job playing the characters in the audio book.)

And it all culminates in this exchange, with Eva in full control and no longer hiding, or ashamed to be who she is.

Proud. Determined. No longer afraid to be who she is.

Parallels to Real Pluralphobia

The ages of settling are interesting to me. If it's not done intentionally, it at least feels like a pretty big coincidence.

I recently mentioned my feelings about imaginary friends and the belief that many of them are sentient beings. Through that lens, you can see a lot of parallels.

An imaginary friend in childhood may be treated as if they're real by the rest of the family, just playing around. It's often seen as a normal thing. But as a child ages, imaginary friends are more stigmatized. Children are expected to outgrow them. And most will disappear.

Except when they don't...

And then having people in your head is suddenly treated as an illness. You're suffering psychotic hallucinations or a dissociative disorder. Much like with hybrids, you're treated as if you're "sick" or "broken."

And the age range of this is pretty close. Most imaginary friends fade away during early childhood. This is also when self-states are alleged to become fully integrated and why 10 is usually considered the maximum cutoff for the trauma that causes DID.

Stigma of plurals as "dangerous" is persistent through our media in the form of the evil alter trope, and through media that portrays malevolent psychotic hallucinations as self-conscious entities with their own identities and personality.

There's not some huge government conspiracy in real-life. But the connections are definitely there between the fear of hybrids in The Hybrid Chronicles and the pluralphobia and ableism plurals experience in the real world.

And with our country's history of ableism, even being forcefully shipped away to an institution for being plural would have been a real fear 50 years ago.

On mechanics of Manifestation Types and Emotion Influence...

Having compared the plurality of the book to real plurality and to imaginary friends, I should mention that the souls of the book are exclusively fronters. There are no inner worlds, nor do either Addie or Eva have external visualized mindforms.

And even when she lacks control, Eva seems to almost always be attuned to the body.

Another thing the book handled really well, I thought, was the sharing of emotions between the two and how they can both experience emotions from the other, while clearly identifying those emotions as belonging to the other soul.

And with this excerpt, I feel I should also give a shoutout to the unique formatting choice to denote their mind speech. Though, full disclosure: the audio book can be confusing sometimes when that formatting doesn't exist and you have to depend heavily on context clues to figure out if something was said in their head or through their mouth. Sometimes I didn't realize that something had been verbalized... or not verbalized... until a few sentences later.

Conclusion

What's Left of Me is a fantastic book exploring (whether intentional or not) plurality and pluralphobia in an alternate universe where everyone is born with two souls. It's such a great story, and the dynamic between Eda and Addie is handled amazingly.

Writing this felt weird. When doing The Plurality of… Batman (Failsafe), I was focusing on one character who happened to be plural and ignoring most of the story aside from what was relevant to that.

Likewise, The Plurality of… Skyward - Diones dealt with a single alien species. None of these really felt like I was writing a review of the whole work.

But with What's Left of Me, the plurality is so central to everything that it's practically unavoidable. It's seeped into every layer of the worldbuilding and the characters.

I still left a lot out. There are a bunch of hybrids in this book and a lot I could say about each of them. Maybe I will another time. I chose to only focus on Addie and Eva to keep this from getting too unfocused and avoid giving much more away than I needed to.

And that itself is a situation I haven't been in, where I feel like I need to omit a lot of the plurality in a story just because there's SO MUCH there.

It's a plural world where about half the characters are plurals.

And I only talked about the main two.

There is just too much plurality in this book to cover it all in a single post. So do check it out for yourselves.

And as always, thank you for your time. Have an amazing day! 💖

[bailey-the-narrator]

Crispy & Spicy [Grey & Stanford]

FOR THE SEASIANS OUT THERE HEEHEE

Grey is @blackkatdraws narrator, comfort character

—————

Stanford can cook for himself. It’s in his genes, and his mom taught him early. Cooking is a valuable skill for survival, and it was indeed handy during his college days and his internship away from home.

His lunch often came from the office himself. Sausages and grits, hashbrowns and butter chicken, salads, et cetera. The kitchen is supervised by his boss’ brother sometimes, and it’s good from his perspective. The food is seasoned perfectly, the spices aren’t too overwhelming, and there’s always something new in the cafeteria.

Sometimes, he brought his home-cooked lunch when he was in a mood. Leftovers whipped into something easier for him to eat during his experiment in his workshop.

Little treats, like today’s lunch; Lumpia with stir-fried vermicelli noodles and leftover spicy pork saksang as the filling.

Grey’s eyes lit up in curiosity when Stanford unpacked his lunch, revealing the little fried rolls, glistening in golden brown colour from the shine of the oil. “What’s that?” He asked, now getting closer to him, sniffing a bit. “Is that lumpia?”

`Made them with things from my fridge.` The mechanic answered shortly through his usual Google Translator, pushing his lunchbox towards the Narrator. `I tried to remake my favourite childhood dish, but I ended up making too much.` He picked up the fried roll and took a bite, enjoying the crunch of the outer layer and the surprisingly well-combined combo as he let out a slight hum.

With no hesitation, Grey took a piece and bit one in half, face light up in delight.

The intense flavour from the herbs and spices of pork melted together with the sweet taste of stir-fried vegetables, and the vermicelli noodles became the perfect vessel to soak in the combined taste of spicy, savoury, and a bit of sweet. Bits of crunchy pork fat offered a stark texture contrast in each bite. Chewy from the meat and noodles, crispy from the fried dough skin, and crunchy from the fried fat bits, creating a wonderful combination he couldn’t get enough of.

“It’s good!” Grey exclaimed, finally putting the rest of the roll into his mouth. “You’re good at cooking! Can I have more?”

Stanford glanced at the taller man and back at the lunch box, contemplating whether he should give the other the rest of his lunch.

On one side, he could’ve let him. He has some uncooked ones in his home and could enjoy them for dinner.

On the other side, though, he wanted to eat…lumpia…

…Man, Grey could make an irresistible pleading face.

The mechanic sighed in defeat, before taking one more piece for himself and pushing the rest of the content towards the other. `I can get lunch at the cafeteria, don’t worry.` He gave his piece of reassurance. Cafeteria food is still good for him.

Seeing the Narrator’s face once again light up in happiness is worth the sacrifice of his lunch. 

——————

BONUS:

“How do you know how to make lumpia?” Grey asked again, tossing the last piece of the treat into his mouth. “Lumpia is from the Philippines. One of filipino’s most well-known food.”

Stanford raised his eyebrow. `Lumpia is from Indonesia too, though.`

The Narrator let out a small ‘huh’. “Look up on Google?”

`Google it is.`

That’s how they found that lumpia originated from China, brought in by immigrants in both countries.

[anim-ttrpgs]

A pregen PC portrait from our pre-written Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy adventure module, FORIVA: The Angel Game.

Vi Tran, "The Gamer"

She is 26, but she’s way too small and skinny to be seen as such. Heavy bags lie under her very large eyes. Her baggy clothes, which are all merchandice from various video games, hang from her like fur on a wet dog. Short messy hair.

Of course, this is just a quickstart character for anyone who doesn't want to spend the time to make their own.

Get a full breakdown of her stats as well as more information about her charactertization under the cut, and if that interests you, consider a $5 subscription to our Patreon to download both the functional Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy rulebook and FORIVA: The Angel Game today!

Traits

1. Did You Know. . . || Choose two Knowledge skills. Gain an additional 2 Investigation Points to any investigation roll made with these skills. This character does not gain investigation points for Interpersonal rolls. 

2. Elementary! || This character has a keen eye for detail and can deduce a lot about a person just by looking at them, or at least they think they can. When meeting a new person for the first time, this character may choose to have the Narrator make a hidden Social Cues roll for you. Full Success = This character is able to guess two correct facts about this person just by looking at them. Partial Success = This character is able to guess one correct fact and one incorrect fact about this person. Failure = This character is able to guess two incorrect facts about this person. The Narrator will tell the character these facts, but will not tell them if they are true or false, and will not tell them what the result of the hidden roll was. This roll does not grant investigation points.

3. Savant || Add +2 to any investigation rolls. But a savant’s mind is a troubled place. All Composure rolls are made with at best a -2 modifier.

An extreme introvert who finds comfort and pride in understanding exactly how everything works, down to the tiniest detail. She has always had an incredible eye for detail, even the details of other people - for better or worse. Understanding social cues and nuances is extremely difficult for her, and so there are many secrets she’s accidentally revealed and many insecurities she’s accidentally called out. Unfortunately, people tended to just quietly resent her while acting polite rather than make their feelings obvious so she could improve. As she grew, people kept leaving her or exploding at her without explanation, and Vi, frustrated at people’s irrational two-facedness and vagueness, decided to ignore others entirely. If she could not understand them, she wanted nothing to do with them. She shut herself away in video games as escapism from this reality, but soon enough, she became entranced with understanding every single thing about how video games and technology as a whole works, since such craftsmanship was exact, technical, and not vague at all. She has an incredible passion for understanding everything around her and is ready to spout knowledge of her interests at any time - unfortunately, she has very few friends to share it with. 

One of her few friends is NekoLove70 on an online gaming forum, who became more and more distant from Vi in the past week. When Vi reached out, the only reply she got was “I’m trying to find the Angel”. Vi kept messaging them, but received no answer until just recently, when Neko’s father replied through the account to let Tram know that Neko was hospitalized for a severe illness, and he asked Vi to pray for her health. Vi tried to find out every detail possible about this inexplicable terror she was suddenly helpless before, and she discovered the trend of missing and hospitalized teenagers all said to have been speaking incoherently about an “Angel”.

[oozieoozeborn]

Satine most likely used to be a warrior

For some reason Satine's backstory is still a mystery despite being the love interest of one of the most popular and important characters in all of star wars.

However we can infer her past through parts of the show and supplementary material, and this shows that it is quite possible

Clan Kryze were she comes from is a warrior clan so it makes sense she was trained as one since childhood

Obi wan attributes her pacifism to the mandolorian civil war killing most of her people. He is a fairly trustworthy narrator and was there with her the entire time. She was also less than 20 years old when she became duchess so its not unbelievable that the horros of war made her give up violence for good.

She carries a deactivator pistol which is a non lethal blaster. Satine would have to train on how to handle a pistol to be that comfortable and that good a shot.

Tal Merrik (An agent of deathwatch i remind you) has her in a chokehold and she fluidly breaks the hold and steals his blaster turning the tables. This took her quite literally a second, if not for her aversion to violence she could have killed him in less than 2

The curruption episode has Satine almost go on a total warpath once she finds out something is poisoning children.

Finally the coverup story for Pre's death is that Satine murdered him. Earlier Pre stated that Satine and her advisors have fled Mandalore. Maul and Almec are not stupid and had time to develop a convincing cover story. That Satine breaking into Sundari palace, getting past all the deathwatch soldiers, and killing Pre was the story they chose meant it had to be believable

Honestly I could write a whole essay on the New Mandolorians and the Mando civil war as whole cause they are wildly different in legands and canon, but the popular fanon for them does them no justice.

[rosiebee-18]

A Place Further than the Universe Directed by Atsuko Ishizuka; Written by Jukki Hanada

A Place Further than the Universe narrated themes of personal growth, environmental acknowledgement, and the importance of friendships and creating bonds. It is a great slice of life anime starring 4 young women heading towards Antarctica with dreams to become something and determinism. I resonate with Mari as I am afraid to step out of my comfort with the fear of not knowing what to expect in a new territory. 

PERSONAL GROWTH

One theme that struck out to me the most was their personal growth through their journey to Antarctica. With Shirase’s case, she became a leading example for her friends and developed emotional maturity despite her challenge of her mother’s disappearance.  Mari confronted her fears and gained a sense of purpose in life. Hinata learned new talents about herself and the value of self-acceptance. Yukuki learned what true friendship is through Hinata, Shirase, and Mari. All four girls combated the societal pressure to conform and to live to others expectations by pursuing their own aspirations. I believe many cultures globally deal with the issue of conformity with the fear following their own dreams. Many of that comes from the disapproval of parents or being the oddball. 

They all showcased strength throughout the whole journey. There were many downs that could have casted doubt, ended their friendship, or ended the trip to Antarctica. They preserved through it. Support through friendships and family can help overcome obstacles which is a value that is globally expressed.

Global Environmental Issues

Another theme that was presented in this anime was environmental acknowledgement. The expedition’s team encountered the harsh Antarctic environment as they tried to understand issues surrounding the ecosystem. This anime addresses climate change that is happening all around the world and it is affecting us in our everyday lives. The preservation of  natural environments and raising awareness about human impact on ecosystems is very important globally.

[cloudyscreams]

accidentally spoiled the rest of aikatsu stars for myself and im mad??? so spoiler warnings

why the fuck would elza get the sun dress.........why are they pulling "omg BOTH are cool" stunt again if its against the rules established what the fuckkkkkkkkkk

at least 2wings were a unit and didnt get their dresses or win through some magical gibberish explanation...the friendship/deep bond was kinda far fetched cobsidering aoi and kii were right there but at least it still made sense in terms of hard work (and overcoming their differences)

elsa literally barely does anything, the homegirlie is eating steak and being ominous 90% of her screen time

even lily who is actually canonically disabled trains to the best of her ability and even if she is not, she at least dedicates a lot of time to reading and sewing

i have the same bone to pick with aria despite liking her so much, she showed up, somehow introduced literal magic that goes beyond the metaphors into the plot, got her wings and then poofed out of existence because plot convinience...i would love for her to be the next gen even if it was like risa and nono who might i add, LOST during the final akari gen competition despite achieving a new height for them

also to expand on elza lore: her backstory was shit. not even going to go the "omg just ask your mom about the hug" issue because realsitically, how could a child know that but! most of aikatsu stars cast parents are super famous and are barely home. mahiru got a great arc of feeling abandoned by her sister and elza gets a super flat and one dimensional (and nonsensical might i add) plot point. i get the subtelty of grey area where her mom is super chill but also absent but is that really true? i would argue elza is an unreliable narrator since her mom clearly watched her stages, PRAISED HER as a child and literally the hug is what threw the girl off???? and while we are being shown that mahiru and laura are finding comfort in their friends, elza despite so many people literally licking her boots stays the same........skill issue at this point honestly!! zero character development, Z E R O

rei was interesting to me until her brand debut too. i was like wow an obviously androgynous character who leans into defeating the gender binary of aikatsu! but all that was lost for her to be obsessed with elsa...not sure if it was meant to be shown in a bad light but i highly doubt it since she got both the wings and crowds approval. which also goes against aikatsu universe rules....not only its generally toxic to be this obsessed with another person, i cant take it seriously when aikatsu drove the point of "never chase another person" home so many times literally since ichigo first became an idol. again, elza and rei are so mutually bad for each other i would love to see them crash and burn for being so blinded with that flawed logic and then having to find community and heal from their icky dynamic.

they showed albeit subtly kirara getting less venus-archy and more in line with four star girl's feelings: she stopped being as mean, she cares about elza's approval MUCH less after some time, she literally apologized for being mean to alice...cant believe the sheep gimmick character is the only one who got real character progression (i love her but she is a gimmick and considering how ako is treated as another gimmick character......)

i hate everything the second half of stars is: ive heard people say its rhe only good season outside of ogkatsu and now im horrified to see other ones

[formula-fun]

hiii its me again,,,,

with more prose that makes me insane

"Tragedy takes and takes, for both of them. Max is trying to learn how to grow older; softer. He’s trying to dream of slower things, but it won’t stop people from poking at what he tries to forget—romanticizing all the bad bits and gilding them into their history right alongside the worst days of Charles’ life. People love a tragedy.

Not this, though. This isn’t for the history books. He won’t have people rewatch the podiums where Charles wouldn’t even look Max in the eye and know it was because something horrible happened, and Max didn’t know what to do; didn’t know how to ask for comfort or answers. And Charles—people already remember him in mourning before they remember anything else, and that’s already unfair. They like to treat his life like a play, spilling onto the stage in perfectly romanticized pain. Max won’t have this spilling across it too; won’t have Charles’ grief, his guilt, his self-flagellation, Max’s uselessness to make it right, the two of them ripping themselves apart and beating themselves bloody against each other’s ramparts, their dream of something gentle dead between their feet—he won’t have it added to the list below Max’s shitty childhood and Charles’ monthly visits to the Monaco Cemetery."

I just.

your ability to seamlessly switch between narration of events like races and sex and then just almost a poem of the characters thoughts in that moment is just insane

I think max's refusal to let charles' grief be commodified ( i hope that's the right word) or used to generate clicks like how almost anything that occurs today is used by f1 'journalists' feels rlly organic?

I won't say in character bc idk any of these men but I feel like this determination to keep what's between them, between them is very sjdnsjdb I don't have the words I hope you understand my incoherent rambling sorry

Another line that really stood out to me was when charles says that max understands that 'he enjoys podiums, not pedestals'

just. FERAL. Jsbbdnxbxj

the whole il predestinato title is beautiful and romantic and I will forever be unwell ab it but I wonder at the deification of ferrari bc like. wow. red god whom you love with every fiber of your being, who loves you back but. akdnbxjdnd BUT.

anyway sorry, I hope you don't mind that I'm doing these excerpt dissecting thingies I'm. very insane.

☀️

no no no never apologize!!!!! i love this so much <3333

this is all so on point honestly! what you said about being in character...i dont know these people at all and completely made this read up, but that's 100% what this fic is getting at?? they grew up racing and giving interviews and crashing out and they can be really rational about all of that because its just in their nature. they can sacrifice whatever they need to and behave however they need to for their teams and their success, and they don't question it because it's just who they are. in a way there's even solace in recognizing that it's a trait they share and they're not alone in it. theyre like the scorpion and the frog except they're both the scorpion which is an idea that keeps me up at night because not to be fake deep and pretentious but i feel like scorpions probably have a very different understanding of that story than frogs do. i might be insane

ANYWAY what that all means is it's really new to build something together that's just for them and that isn't about racing or expectations or even about gender roles, it's about love and honesty and trust. it's really new and scary but it's also really freeing. dont ask me how the a/b/o porny fic became about that, but the whole point of it is them finding new ways to see themselves based on the stability they've found with each other. or something. and that's why max is protective of their real actual vulnerabilities and why both of them kind of treat il predestinato/the inevitable mythos as a fun story but ultimately not a very serious one

the bit you quoted is sooo highly ranked for me <3 it relates very directly to telescope by boy & bear which became such a max song for this fic, especially "i've adjusted all my dreams for something slow // and it's a softening that age has taught me well // for the things i cannot change i must let go" like hhh its HIM

anyway thank you for thiiis i always love discussing my fic <3333